


Guard Duty

by TrishaCollins



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU From Episode Ardyn, Bahamut was the villain before it was cool, Character Death, Clarus Spends Way Too Much Time Laughing, Cor Adopts Everything, Gen, Healer Ardyn Izunia, I have a degree that I guess I wanted to use here, Magical Swords, Minor but it hurt me, The gods tattoo whomever they damned please, This story took its own path, Why is there a moogle in the library, caelum's are all secretly cats, some body horror, transdimensional moogle, y'all it is some bullshit that Gladio's mom does not have an offical name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-12-29 20:30:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 70
Words: 97,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18301418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishaCollins/pseuds/TrishaCollins
Summary: What started out as the worst guard duty assignment ever turned into an odd roommate situation. Cor still isn't what is happening. But Clarus is still laughing, and Regis seems content. Somehow, through fits and starts, they are building a better future. They just have to keep Ardyn away from the Nifs.





	1. Chapter 1

_“Contain it! We need to contain it!”_

 

_“What do the Nifs want with it anyway? Shit. Someone get eyes on it!”_

He had eyes on it, and as far as fairy tales went the Accursed moved like a man unsure of his legs, unsure of the world around him, and moving forward only because they were attacking him.

 

“I have an idea. Everyone hang back.” He rumbled into his radio.

 

 _“Cor…”_ Clarus’s voice, worried, a little bit scared. The Accursed had mowed through all that faced him, but he had been observing. The bursts of power had knocked them about, certainly, but it had never quite seemed targeted towards killing them.

 

Which meant it hadn’t decided what it was doing yet, and they were spooking it to rash actions. Like an injured chocobo, they needed to be calm to it, not frantic.

 

He gathered the items he thought he might need before he teleported in, sword safely sheathed at his side.

 

The creature jerked towards him, shivering, bare chested in the night.

 

“Easy.” He held up his hands, showing that he held only a blanket and a canteen. “Easy.”

 

“Who…?” The Accursed murmured, staggering a step towards him.

 

He should have taken the mask off, given away some hint of humanity. Wearing the hood made him feel like a jackass, and he was sure that being surrounded by masked, attacking figures had only further panicked this creature so cleverly shaped as a man. “My name is Cor. I do not wish to hurt you.”

 

 _“What are you doing, Leonis?”_ The Marshal’s voice was sharp in his ears. _“Get your weapon out, that thing will kill you.”_ There was the undercurrent of real fear there.

 

“Cor…What….what is happening?” Another shiver, steps taking him slowly to his side until he could drape the blanket around the man shaped thing, chafe his hands over chilled arms until the creature was bobbing forward, seemingly more at risk of leaning on him than killing him.

 

“Nifs are attacking.” He explained, gentle. “They’re the ones that woke you up.”

 

“Ah?” Now it did lean on him, nestling against his shoulder like a child. A ragged mess of a child that had been badly scared.

 

 _“Fuck, it’s working.”_ Someone said over the comms, awed. _“How the fuck, Leonis?”_

He ignored the chatter, guiding the man down to the rocks, using the blanket to protect the creature from their sharpness. “You’re ok. Nothing to worry about, they’ll take care of the Nifs.”

 

A sleepy, compliant nod, the long body settling to use his lap as a pillow.

 

He used the free hand to brush the hood and mask down, setting the canteen near the creature’s head in case he wanted it.

 

He didn’t seem to, eyes closing, body shivering occasionally despite the blanket.

 

Well, he had been wandering around with bare feet and no shirt on what was likely one of the coldest places in Lucis. Likely, man or monster, he had caught the chill in his bones.

 

He stroked the long, tangled hair absently, hearing the faint whimper when he did so as the Accursed pressed beseechingly into his fingers. “Alright. I get it.” He murmured, digging his nails into the scalp and working his fingers through the worst of the tangles.

 

“I did not wish to hurt them.” The creature whispered. “What is happening to me?”

 

He felt an unexpected bubble of sympathy rise up. Shit, did he not know? Was he unaware of what he was? That settled wrong in his belly, imprison a monster, sure, but lock up the man with it? “Not sure. The king will know, I am sure.”

 

“Somnus?” The man muttered to himself.   
  


He blinked. “Ah. No. King Mors, though you’re likely to meet Prince Regis first.”

 

The man mouthed the names, then pushed his head into his hand again.

 

He resumed the job of untangling the hair, listening to the fighting from a distance while he kept the Accursed calm. Angelguard was the worst of the guard assignments. He had sworn at Clarus when he’d drawn it, Clarus had laughed and clapped his shoulder and volunteered to go along.

 

Ass. As though being himself he would get the worst of it.

 

Only two weeks, Regis had promised, and then he’d be done for the year.

 

Well look at how well that was going, with the most important prisoner being broken out by invading Nifs and now asleep on his lap.

 

But he thought Regis would understand his hesitation to condemn the man, even if King Mors might rage against him as a fool, and too impulsive besides.

 

The story felt wrong. A raging monster the man on his lap most certainly wasn’t. He was too scared for that, too tentative. He worked the long, tangled hair into a rough braid, using the length of it to tie it off at the end. Curly stuff, It would probably want cutting later, but right now he had only a sword and a knife, and he wasn’t going to offer to barber the man who had only just calmed down.

 

“Drink?” He asked, the task done.

 

“Mhm?” The Accursed blinked sleepy hazel eyes up at him, but allowed himself to be propped up enough to take a few swallows of the water. It became apparent that the man was thirstier than he had realized, for he drained the entire canteen, even using a finger to capture the drips that had escaped his mouth and guide them back. “Do…?”

 

“Not on me.” He said, apologetic, reaching for his radio. “When someone has a moment, water and food.”

 

 _“Are you suggesting we feed it?”_ The Marshal sounded horrified.

 

 _“Done and done. Might only be canned soup, but we can manage. You have him?”_ Clarus asked.

 

“More or less.”

 

The Accursed was peering at him with wide eyes. “Who is it you speak to?”

 

“Radio.” He pulled the headset out of his ear to show it to him. “Talking to the rest of the squad. My friend…superior… will bring more water and food.”

 

The Accursed looked somewhere between doubtful and curious, reaching up to run fingers over the device. “You can speak to them all?”

 

“Sure can.” He hesitated, adjusted his channel setting to only Clarus, and then tucked the receiver in the Accursed ear. “Press here to activate the mic.” He demonstrated, and then released it.

 

“What do I say?” The Accursed asked, shifting from wary curiosity to excitement.

 

“Whatever.” He shrugged.

 

It took a few tries, and Clarus was probably going slightly mad with the tones and heavy breathing on the other end – it served him right, really – before the Accursed managed to find something to say. “Hello?”

 

Delight morphed his face into a smile. “Yes. Yes.” He was nodding his head along with what he was saying. “He takes quite good care of me, thank you.”

 

He had no idea what they were talking about, though he assumed after a moment it was himself, because Clarus would miss no chance to make fun of him.

 

Almost unhappily, the Accursed yielded back the headset. “Such a clever device. He says I must allow you to continue monitoring the channels, for the Nifs might turn.”

 

“We can see about getting you one of your own later.” He promised, letting the man resettle on his lap.

 

 _“We private?”_ Clarus asked quietly.

“Yeah. I narrowed it before I handed it to him.” He explained, returning to his ‘job’ of stroking the Accursed hair.

 

 _“That was not what I expected. Regis is not going to like this. Don’t let anyone take him away from you, got it?”_ Clarus ordered.

 

“Understood. Is this what he was looking for?” He asked, absently tucking a blanket around the Accursed’s shoulder.

 

Clarus laughed in his ear. _“Regis was looking for an answer, not a man with all the answers. Be careful, Cor. Be very very careful, don’t let anyone take him away from you.”_

 

“I won’t.” The radio dissolved in distant chatter again, Clarus off to do whatever he was doing – Contacting their Prince, probably, to tell him what Angelguard had revealed. Trying to figure out how they were going to get the prisoner off the island.

 

Without anyone trying to shoot them.

 

Regis never asked for anything _small_ of his retinue.


	2. Chapter 2

The Accursed slept most of the way back to Galdin, curled up on the berth under every blanket they could pull out of storage.

 

Regis came aboard in a flicker of magic almost as soon as they drew close enough to shore to allow it.

 

“I’ve told you before, wait for the gangplank to be lowered.” Clarus growled at their prince.

 

Regis flashed him a smile, clearly not at all apologetic for the brief assault on his shield’s nerves. “Is he downstairs?”

 

“Asleep.” He swung his leg, watching the skies. “I am sure the Marshal has already reported our actions to your father.”

 

“My father is a relic of his age, we should understand what it is we are guarding, not merely lock him away to be forgotten. You say he talks and behaves as a normal man might?” Regis questioned, peering down the stairs.

 

“A normal man caught out of time, perhaps. Every new encounter is a revelation to him. I thought we would lose him to the tides when we brought him on board, he was so captivated by the boat.” He shrugged. “If there is some evil within him, he hides it well.”

 

“Cor all but braided flowers into his hair.” Clarus commented. “So I imagine him a bit biased, as he is with every stray he collects. But I see it as well. He is confused, concerned, and somewhat lost. But he is polite and gentle in every way. Though he did damage several Royal Guard, and killed one.”

 

“In his defense, he was given no chance to surrender. And by my observation, he aimed to push them away from him and seemed just as alarmed as they were when the power welled within him. Perhaps that is the evil for which he was locked away?” He tilted his head. “It can be only speculation until we ask him of himself.”

 

Regis looked…excited. Which was not unexpected, but he wasn’t certain how the man would take the prince’s eagerness. Alarm, perhaps? “I would like to speak to him myself. Should we allow him his rest?”

 

“Not if you’re going to be bouncing around the ship until he wakes up. But I’m going with you.” Clarus finished the docking of the ship, and turned to face them both.

 

“Three people are certainly not too many?” Regis directed the question at him, which was when he realized that he would also be attending the prince.

 

“I suppose not. He is social enough, if a bit confused by all around him.” He stood up, leading the way into the berths.

 

The Accursed was sitting up on his bed, back pressed against the wall, blinking sleepily up at him. There was alarm there, and fear, feathering in around the edges. “Cor?”

 

“It is alright. I told you Prince Regis would like to meet you.” On instinct, he walked to the bed, sitting next to the man.

 

The Accursed relaxed marginally, pressing a leg against his back. He could feel the tension in the man, which surprised him. He had never managed to find it within him to fear Regis, and finding that this man – this creature, whom they had all been taught to fear – feared his Prince was a little unsettling.

 

“Hello.” Regis at least seemed aware of his impact, crouching down. “I am Regis Lucis Caelum, Prince of Lucis. Might I have your name?”

 

The Accursed paused for a moment, leg pressing taunt against his back. “Ardyn.” His voice was small, quiet, only building in strength when he said his name again, in full. “Ardyn Lucis Caelum.”

 

Regis looked entirely fascinated. “Then we are cousins, at some distance.”

 

The Accursed – Ardyn – huffed out a breath, tinged with amusement. “I…suppose that is true. How long has it been? How long since…Somnus?”

 

“My father is the 112th king of Lucis. It has been some two thousand years.” Regis said, careful with his words, but clearly honest.

 

A sharp, pained breath that ended with a moan.

 

He found himself clutching Ardyn’s hand, knuckles white and fingers bloodless.

 

“I am sorry. I know this is all a shock to you.” Regis’ voice was soft, and came only after some moments had passed. “We have been tasked with guarding you, but were never informed of what – or who – it was that we were guarding.”

 

“I see.” Ardyn’s voice was thick with old grief, hand tightening a fraction around his own. “And what do you intend to do with me, Prince?”

 

“I think that relies mostly on you, and what you intend to do now that you are awake. What do _you_ want?” Regis smiled gently. “Aside from continued possession of Cor’s arm.”

 

Ardyn gave a dry, pained laugh. “Everything I could want is dead and gone, oh prince, there is nothing left to me save darkness.” Fingers curled around his bicep, body weight settling against his shoulder.

 

“We could forge a new fate.” Regis offered, gentle, watching. If he was concerned that the Accursed – the demon they had spent two thousand years guarding – was currently curling around him, he showed it not at all.

 

“And what would that be, oh Prince of Lucis?” Ardyn asked, voice a mere whisper against his shoulder.

 

“Why, whatever we should want. We share the same blood, after all.” Regis smiled, that same coaxing smile that made him such an able Politician, charming and winding his way through the court when his siblings faltered. It was why he was the heir, and not his sister or his brother, it was why despite the challenge his father might press to oppose the Accursed's freedom, Regis would manage it if he willed it.

 

It was the same reason he followed the Prince, that unshakable conviction.

 

Ardyn’s face pressed into his shoulder, a low moan shaking through him. “Why….”

 

Regis nodded, as though that, too, was some answer. “I wish only that we can find some commonality between us. Please, rest, absorb what you know now. I will await your answer.”

 

The words, polite though they were, were answered only by a sob.

 

He locked eyes with Clarus, alarmed, but the shield was already stepping back and allowing their Prince to go up the stairs first.

 

There were times he truly and completely hated his friends.

 

Leaving him with a sobbing demon at his back was likely one of them.


	3. Chapter 3

Ardyn slept fitfully, needing some contact to root him and prevent whatever terrors stalked his dreams. Which had started the oddest sleeping arrangement he had been a part of, mostly on the couches and lobbies of the Citadel. He refused to share quarters, and Ardyn seemed amenable to using him as a comfort object elsewhere just fine.

He found himself snapping out of a light doze to a door opening. Regis gave a soft smile, an apologetic head tilt for waking him. He was holding a tray. “How long has he been sleeping?” 

He glanced at his watch, yawning and cracking his neck as he came closer to being awake. “Probably an hour. Last night was rough, I think he drank four pots of coffee.”

The subject of the discussion was curled into his side, breath warm against his stomach, one hand tangled lightly in his shirt, headphone trailing out of his ear – probably playing the synth-pop he had recently become obsessed with. 

“I wish there was more we could do for his nightmares.” Regis sat down the tray. 

“He says its fine.” He shrugged. “Says he just needs time. Nobody has bothered us.” 

Arguably, his current assignment was making certain that nobody bothered the Accursed and that the Accursed didn’t attack any of the law abiding citizens with his hidden darkness. In practice, it was mostly watching Ardyn as he roamed the city, absorbing all of the changes two thousand years had wrought on the world. 

“I doubt they would, with your scowl.” Regis teased. “I needed to speak with you, and with Ardyn. My father wants us to investigate the recent imperial incursions. It would require us to travel some distance, and I would like the both of you to come along. Clarus will be going, as well as two others you know – Cid and Wesk.” 

He nodded. “Do you want to ask him yourself?”

“’He’ hears just fine, oh Prince.” Ardyn said with some wryness. “Are you certain your father will allow me out of his sniping range?”

Regis chuckled. “Well, he is concerned about the idea, but he trusts my judgement. What say you, oh Accursed one, shall you see what the enemies of Lucis have to say for themselves?” 

“Which is to say that the pair of you had another of your shouting fights, mhm?” Ardyn asked, reaching a hand to Regis. 

The man was tactile to the point of absurd, but Regis never seemed to mind it, taking the hand and helping him sit up. “Of course. The fact that you have my ear perturbs the entire council.” Regis said it with good humor, but they both knew that it was a difficult time for the prince. 

When had Ardyn become included in ‘both’ the same way Clarus was? He mulled over that, watching the prince fawn over Ardyn like a favored uncle whose counsel he took more seriously than most. 

“How far would we be traveling?” Ardyn asked, patting the hand thoughtfully. 

“From one end of Lucis to the other.” Regis beamed. “In my car, though it will be a tight fit for six.”

He blanched. “What, are we going to tie those two the roof? Is Wesk going to ride in the trunk?” 

Regis waved it off. “I am certain we will find a way. The back seat fits three.” 

“Three, certainly, but Ardyn and Clarus alone….” He sighed, shaking his head. There would be some shuffling, certainly, but if the prince was determined. 

Ardyn seemed a bit bemused by their conversation. “Well, if your father can be pacified for long enough that we might slip the gates, then I would certainly be delighted to attend you, oh great prince of Lucis.” 

Regis laughed, clasping Ardyn’s arm. “I will be glad to have you there, my friend. Leave my father to me, I will see to it that he is more than pacified before we are on our way.”

Ardyn nodded easily, flopping back on the couch – trapping his shoulder against it in the process. “I will try to make certain I am well rested before then, my prince.” 

“I brought you breakfast.” Regis motioned to the tray. “And tea, because I heard you have already likely consumed too much coffee.” 

Ardyn chuckled. “Thank you, Regis. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.” 

Regis gave him a long look, questioning. “You are coming as well, Cor?”

“As though you needed to ask? Of course I will come.” He tried to shift Ardyn’s bulk, grumbling a bit when the man only settled more comfortably against him, seemingly ignoring his discomfort. “Move.”

“So demanding.” Ardyn murmured, tossing his head a bit before shifting to release him.

Regis snorted softly. “Eat, Ardyn, Cor. I will meet with you both later.”

“Farewell for now, oh great prince.” Ardyn said, voice tinged with humor as he leaned forward to take possession of the tray.


	4. Chapter 4

"Too much of that and you will be an immortal pickle. It was a birthday gift from Clarus." He commented, rubbing at his face.

 

Ardyn looked up, slightly guilty as he put down the brandy. "Did I wake you?"

 

He grunted. "I handle people rummaging around my apartment in the middle of the night just fine. What's wrong?"

 

"It is actually early morning." Ardyn whispered, wincing a bit. "I'm... I apologize, I should have asked before entering your quarters."

 

Sleep fogged though he was, he could tell this was not the sort of conversation that they would be having. "Do you need a drink?"

 

Ardyn paused, lips pressed and clearly unhappy. "I think I might. I have put this on you, Cor. Forgive me  ..."

 

"I volunteered." He moved to the bar, pulling down two glasses and filling them each about a quarter of the way.

 

"It is a very long and troubling story." Ardyn said softly.

 

He sighed and filled them all the way. "Predawn drinking is probably one of the early signs of being an alcoholic." He told the man mildly, carrying the glasses to the table before going to make coffee and see what he had for bread

 

Thank the gods the drinking age in Insomnia was only fifteen. For a while there he had been reliant on Clarus for charity.

 

Clarus had a noble man's taste in alcohol, which was why there was bourbon in his mini bar. His tastes had always been less refined.

 

Beer was more his taste. But convincing Ardyn that beer was acceptable had proved challenging. 

 

He came back with a rough meal of toast, cheese and crackers. He wasn't enough of an idiot to try to keep up with Ardyn this early in the morning without something to fortify him.

 

He sat it down next to his glass, watching Ardyn sip at the liquor.

 

"I am sorry for the early hour." Ardyn whispered. 

 

"It is not the first time." He offered his hand and Ardyn took it gratefully, winding his fingers through.

 

If there was anything he knew for certain about this man, it was that two thousand years of solitary confinement had left him skin hungry and desperate to be touched.

 

Palm to palm for the moment, Ardyn took a shaky breath. 

 

"I need to tell someone, Cor." He whispered, eyes wet and staring. Not at him, but passed him.

 

"Then please." He said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “Let me share this burden with you.”

 

And Ardyn did, haltingly, careful. “My brother and I…we were close once. So very close. We fought as siblings do, he and I were too far different than to be very tolerant of each other for long. Aera spent so much time tempering our fury with her own gentleness. I thought…I thought it should always be that way. But the gods had other plans.” He drew a shaky breath, taking his glass in hand to take a long drink of it.

 

 

Probably wasting the good stuff, but it wasn’t like he normally drank it.

 

 

He returned the desperate squeeze of his fingers with one of his own, waiting.

 

 

“The crystal was said to choose a king. The Scourge walked the earth, and so too did we. Somnus thought that the only way to purge it was to destroy the hosts.” Ardyn’s fingers tightened, head bowing, forehead against the back of his hand as though in request for benediction. “I took it into myself, each man and woman I encountered. I drew the sickness from their body and into my own. Healing them.”

 

“You took it into your own body?” Horror filled him, though he did not pull away.

 

“It was the only way for them to live. For me to take it for myself.” Ardyn made a soft sound, tears sliding down the back of his palm, dripping to the couch. “They could live, then, with no more harm done to them. Their lives restored.”

 

“But what of yours?” He asked, uncertain. Surely the Scourge had not been pleased to be denied.

 

“I maintained, for some while. Aera was called to the seat of the Oracle, and with her support I managed. But then the crystal was to choose a king. The true king must sit the throne.” There was a laugh, then, though it lacked even the faint veneer of humor. “I did not want it, Somnus – Somnus by then no longer resembled the brother I had known and loved. There was cruelty in his heart, or simply a malaise that made it easy for him to cast both sin and sinner to the flame. I was called to the capital. To where…to where Insomnia now stands.”

 

He reached, closing his hand around Ardyn’s shoulder, lending him strength for the last part of the story, which clearly pained him.

 

“I did not know at the time, but she had told Somnus which of us had been chosen. He used that to lay a trap for me, to fill the crystal room with his forces. We…fought. Ah, it was not truly a fight at all. I was angry, betrayed – my own brother? Truly? Did he desire the throne so badly? But then….then Aera sought to step between us as she had throughout our childhood. But t’was not sticks and rocks and words we slung at each other now, but swords. He…he slew her. Her blood was on my hands. And the rage of the demons I had taken filled me then.”

 

The words between then stilled, Ardyn’s voice trailing away to silence.

 

“I think I did something. I do not truly recall those moments, I was lost in my grief. Lost in the knowing that I had caused this. If I had only stayed away, perhaps she would have lived.” Ardyn looked up at him, eyes wet. “I do not know. If it had truly been me called, or if Somnus’ shout that I was tainted was the truth. I do not know. I never knew. Even when they chained me.” He shook himself then, sitting up, regaining distance. “I spent so much time in dreams, where she and I….where we were together.”

 

He worked his jaw, clutching at Ardyn’s shoulder, the soft fabric of the shirt he had worn to bed offering no resistance.

 

“Even if it was Somnus that had been called, there was no right on his part to throw you to the depths.” He said, voice harsh. “It sounds as though he envied you. That he chose to imprison you and forget…gods.”

 

“He was ever the fighter.” Ardyn murmured. “I was more the scholar. I never wanted it, any of it. It was only ever what they wanted.”

 

Silence settled between them, Ardyn’s breath unsteady, his measured, carefully controlled.

 

“Cor, do you think me a monster?” Ardyn asked, finally, voice small.

 

“No.” The answer came without thought, but he stood by it upon reflection. “A monster would not ask.”

 

“Ah. I am still angry with him, Somnus….but I like Regis. He is very unlike my brother.” Worry lines formed around the man’s eyes. “I do not wish to see this place suffer.”

 

“You have every right to be angry with him. Did you…did you know?” He asked, hesitant.

 

Ardyn looked thoughtful. “Know? Oh. I was awake when they put me down there.” He turned, shifting until he could rest his head on his lap. “I screamed after them for some time, I think, before it turned to the madness of dreaming. Or perhaps that was part of the dream too? I remember Aera there, through part of it. Standing behind them as they wove the chain through my skin, my beautiful, sweet Aera….I thought she must hate me, for failing. But then I dreamed of her so often I forgot.” Eyes closed, body going lax.

 

Asleep, he judged after a moment of silence, asleep and likely better served in sleep than more talking. Gods above, this man had suffered. For what? Why? For the cost of a throne? How was he not screaming with every breath? How was he sane after so many years spent in his own company?

 

“Cor…” Ardyn murmured, head turning, seeking.

 

“Here. Rest now.” He touched the crown of his head, working his fingers through the tangled strands.

 

Ardyn relaxed again, breath leaving him in a little sigh.

 

Enough with it, then. He would see to it that the man suffered no more.


	5. Chapter 5

The act of waking up hurt. There was dirt in his mouth, grit filled his eyes. Had there been a sandstorm? What in the hells was this?

Someone else groaned to his right, though the groaning quickly morphed into a call for their prince.

Someone - Clarus - flipped him over and cleared the grit from his mouth and eyes in a few quick swipes. "Wake up, damnit, Cor. They've taken Regis and Ardyn."

That got him moving, even if it was a jerky sort of movement because everything hurt in a way he wasn't accustomed to. "What hit us?"

"Drop ship. Some sort of magnetic pulse." Clarus said, quickly getting Cid up and shoved towards the car before he moved on to Wesk. "Move it. I don't want to deal with them having a chance to make their way back to Nif territory."

He searched the area. There was clear sign of struggle, and at least two bodies of men who had not died gently, their eyes wide with horror.

Shit. Ardyn was going to be a mess when they found him, even if he couldn't think of a better example of self defense. The man loathed killing and loathed loosing his demons more. There was no sign of Regis's particular style. Must have been knocked out too, with only Ardyn to act as the universes most terrifying jack-in-the-box.

Fucking nifs. what the hell did they want with Ardyn anyway? Bastards. And the prince as well?

"Cor. Let's go." Clarus shouted.

He grunted in response, heading for the car. If they hurt either of them there would be hell to pay. They had promised Ardyn safety. "Where to?" The keys were still in his pocket, the car started easily - which made Cid relax, that had clearly been a major concern. 

"Closest base is in Dusce. Head to that one. Ardyn put up a fight, which probably means they will need a chance to contain him before they can take him far." Clarus ordered, slamming himself into the passenger seat.

Moody Clarus was normally irritating. But right now he found it suited him just fine. He was angry too. 

*~*

Breaking into the newly built base was easier than it should have been, with Cid pointing out a weakness in the defences that had let them walk in entirely unnoticed.

Which was a shame and had left his hands itching for the grip of his blade and some shed nif blood.

Cid had also been smart enough to hack into their security and determine where their prince and Ardyn were currently being kept. 

It had been twelve hours by their best estimate, surely a small enough window of time that the Nifs hadn't been able ot hurt either of them.

They walked into a room that smelled of blood, and a soft whimpering he recognized.

Clarus grabbed his wrist before he could speak, nodding to the man at the center of the room, leaning over a prone figure on a table.

His lip curled as recognition set in, a snarl building in his chest. Verstael. The butcher of Nifilheim. Fucker number one on his hit list from now until he died.

Clarus pushed his down, finger to his lips in a bid for silence and motioned to his ear.

Right. Intelligence first. Rescue later.

"I find it facinating that you have sided with them. After all, it was the Lucians that imprisioned you for so long." Verstael was saying, circling the figure on the table. "Still, if you refuse to cooperate, you will help us in other ways. Your blood is already teaching me." He adjusted something on the table.

Ardyn made a noise, a pained, animal noise. More a gurgle than a cry.

"Hold." Clarus growled lowly against his ear. 

His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. 

"We don't know what he can do with that. He's standin' right by him, kid." Cid muttered. "Regis is in one of the cells. Wesk found him. It's tied to the security. Last thing we need is him having a hostage that can die."

"He can feel pain." He objected, feeling sick.

"It won't kill him. We're getting him as soon as we have Regis. He would tell you to do the same.'" Clarus voice was soft and fierce.

He grumbled, but loosed the hand on his sword, trying to project a sense of his presence at Ardyn instead. They would not leave him here in the Butcher's hands. They would not.

By his watch, getting Regis out of the cell without tripping the alarm only took an hour. An hour in which he listened to the pained whines and disturbing squelches from the floor of the makeshift lab. He catalogued each little cry, each pained noise, spilling red ink all over the ledger of Verstael's sins.

He was going to kill the man. With his bare hands if he could.

"Got him. Let's go." Clarus released the bruising grip on his shoulder and he moved, finally, out of the forced crouch with a bellow of fury.

Fuck stealth.

Verstael hit an alarm, did something to the table that made Ardyn shriek like he was dying, and fled like a coward.

Hours later, when they found their way clear and back to the car, he would think on that.

But it didn't mean he wasn't going to kill the man at all. It just wasn't today.

Ardyn had somehow managed to jam his body in the floor by his feet, bloody, shivering and steaming small gouts of smoke when the sun got through his coverings. He was crying, it was faint, but he knew the signs by now. 

Regis was curled up small next to Clarus, which left Cid to drive and Wesk to scan for a haven.

Didn't they just cut the figure of a heroic band of hunters?

He leaned down to wrap his arms around Ardyn, appearances be damned. His body could block some of the sunlight and Ardyn needed to be touched.

"Hey." He whispered. "You with us?"

There was a small sniffle. "Mostly. I-Cor..."

"Shhh. We've got you."

Ardyn clutched at his sleeve, fingers picking at the button until he could press them against the underside, seeking his pulse. "I thought you were dead."

"It takes a lot more than some sneaky Nifs to kill me." He told him, stroking his hair through the blanket. "Once we get to the haven we can get some of your spare clothes out of the trunk."

A quiet nod against his wrist. He could feel eyelashes, and knew Ardyn must have closed his eyes. He tightened the arm he had around his back, murmering some soothing nonsense into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this part on my phone. Which thinks Cid's name is 'Cod'. If I missed any typos please forgive!


	6. Chapter 6

"Can you get any closer?" Clarus complained, arm tucked tightly around Regis. 

He hadn't seen the damage to their prince yet, but knew it must be bad if Regis was tolerating being wrapped in blankets like a child and carried by his shield.

He may have supported Ardyn out of the lab, but he had managed to walk. He was not sure if Regis was incapable or Clarus had just refused to allow it.

Cid swore at them from the front seat, but crept closer to the haven anf a little more off the road. The regalia was almost completely covered by the stiff branches of the evergreen, which he guessed was the point of Clarus's concern. It would be hard to spot from above.

Ardyn lifted his head a little, peering around with bleary eyes. "Is there a bath?'

"A makeshift one, once we boil enough water." Absently he found himself stroking Ardyn's hair.

"Any bath will do. So long as it allows me to shed this skin." Ardyn mumbled against his knee. 

"How's the prince?" He asked Clarus, as Cid and Wesk got out of the car to haul their gear and get the water started.

"Awake." Regis mumbled from the circle of Clarus's arms. "Awake enough to speak for himself."

"Sorry, highness. How are you feeling?"

"I would also greatly appreciate a bath. How long were we held?"

Clarus sighed. "Less than a day. We had to wake up ourselves and find you."

"Do not punish yourself, Clarus. There has been enough hurt. Ardyn?" Regis's voice was still soft and pained, even with the Elixers he had seen Clarus coaxing down the prince. 

 

"I am here, my prince, at loathe to leave your hospitality more than ever." Ardyn murmured, pressure against his knee indicating that he had shifted.

That startled a small chuckle out of Regis - though the softly pained groan that followed it indicated he was still badly hurt. "Yes. They were not the best at making us feel welcome, were they? The turn down service left much to be desired, to say nothing for the food."

"Oh did they feed you? I saw naught so much as a crumb. The bed was very firm, which I suppose if sufficient for one who desires it. But I was provided not one blanket for my comfort. The maid never returned my clothes, either." There was a shadow in Ardyn's voice, but the jest had the rhythm of their normal japes.

He snorted softly, exchanging a look with Clarus.

"Surely we can secure better lodgings in the future." Regis returned. 

"I would think as a prince they would know you would not tolerate such beastly manners."

"Alright. You two." Clarus sighed. "Either one of you could be dying on the floor, and still the wit to play."

Regis hummed. "Lift me free of this car, Clarus, and ferry me to my bath."

 

“I’ll carry you, sure, right to the lake.” Clarus rumbled as he got out, prince in tow. 

He looked down at Ardyn, amused. “I cannot carry you.”

“A pity, I would look suitably dramatic swooning in your arms.” Ardyn smiled faintly, clearly still tired. “I will manage well enough on my own, if you but give me your arm.”

“That you can have.” He stepped out of the car, spending enough time helping Ardyn to his feet and going through the bags that he assumed Regis must have had enough time to get himself together. 

He had, by the time they reached the haven, and was looking wistfully out at the water – though it said something for how badly he had been feeling that he hadn’t covered the few hundred yards to the shore. 

Ardyn washed and dressed without much fuss, easing himself into a chair. “Did we expect them so far inland?”

“No.” Regis sighed. “I will need to write a report and send it to my father. The marshal as well. This was far close to Liede than we had been led to believe.”

“Ah.” Ardyn said softly, tugging the blanket around his shoulders. “Then we will need to be more careful.” 

Clarus flopped down on the ground next to his prince, frowning. “We’re making for the army tomorrow. At least to let them know about the incursion. That could have gone far worse.”

Ardyn glanced at him, lips pressing into a line, sleeves tugged over the back of his hands. “Yes. Yes it could have.” 

It was a very quiet camp that night.

~*~

Ardyn slept curled against his back in the tent, arms tucked around his body and holding him in place.

It was probably the most uncomfortable attempt at sleep he had ever had, including boot camp because at least he could move. Ardyn had inches and pounds on him, which meant he was locked in place unless he wanted to wake the giant.

He caught the glint of Clarus's eyes in the dark, and the flash of an amused smile.

"Can't sleep?" He muttered. 

"Apparently the latch on to people in their sleep thing is a family trait. Get comfortable and bring a book."

"How do you read in the dark?"

Clarus tapped the rim of his reading glasses. "You befriend someone in opsec."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "You could have warned me."

"You insisted on packing your own bag. I let you." Clarus looked amused, shifting Regis a bit so he could sit up.

The prince whined faintly, shifting until he was almost entirely in Clarus's lap, burrowing into his chest with a sigh.

"Surprised Ardyn hasn't wrapped you up before. Regis would do it when we were kids. Dad would bring me over and remind me my duty and then..." He made a gesture to the prince in his lap.

"Ardyn only uses me for a pillow on couches. Normally. Did Regis tell you what happened?"

Clarus shrugged. "I have a guess. It isn't pretty. Ardyn was awake for it, he tell you anything?"

He shook his head. "Just that he thought I was dead."

Clarus winced. "Amazing they managed to take him, then. Explains why they left the rest of us. He must have been half mad with fury and grief. You've seen Regis when I go down."

He had, but it puzzled him to figure out what that had to do with Ardyn.

Clarus grinned. "Shield, Cor. Emotional, physical and mental shield. You absorb what he can't take. That's your job. That is why Regis pushed this on you. He knew you were capable."

He rolled his eyes, shifting until he could at least sit up. Ardyn folded around him, pushing his face into his stomach. "Capable of what? All I did was listen to him scream."

"And then you held him afterwards and helped him wash it away so he could sleep tonight, knowing you would keep watch and protect him. Shield." Clarus grinned. "I mean. Mine is more likely to be king than yours. But it holds. Regis looked at everyone around him, everyone he knew, and he picked you to do that job."

He looked away, down at Ardyn’s head. “My duty is to the crown.”

“You’re a lot easier to look after than a prison, plus you make him less of a concern.” Clarus pointed out, wise and calm. “Regis has this whole plan to keep things peaceful. Mors doesn’t agree with it, but Regis is the darling of the council and anything that gets good men and women off that island and back into the city will make them happy. Plus, Regis is doubting some things that were written down so long ago they’ve been treated as unavoidable truths. That’s part of what this mission is. He wants to investigate some of the sacred sites, seek the council of his forbearers. He doesn’t wear the ring yet, but it’s a near thing now. Something got lost in translation somewhere, and Regis wants to know.”

He frowned, studying Ardyn’s face in the dim light. “He’s at the core of it, whatever Regis finds.” 

“Yeah.” Clarus agreed, concern clouding his face. “Yeah. He’s the eye of the storm.” 

A storm that he knew was only just starting to stir. 

*~*

The rest area was small, which was why Clarus had decided it was safe enough to stop and restock food and supplies. 

Regis stayed in the car, but Ardyn had been allowed out to stretch his legs and see the sights – clicking away with the camera Clarus had gifted him several stops ago. 

There were ragged, filthy people in piles around the rest area – refugees, begging for a few gil to fill their bellies. Clarus avoided them, but Ardyn seemed on the verge of poking at a few of them. 

His focus seemed particularly taken with a pair of children near the edge of the rest area, barely close enough to be covered by the lights when night fell. They looked rough, young. The girl wore a limp baby in a sling on her chest, the boy had bare feet despite the chill. They made for a pitable trio, standing so alone on the side. It was clear none of the other people here would take any mercy on them.

Ardyn was still taking pictures, but he edged subtly towards them. Working his way closer and closer until he stood just next to them, gaze focused on some distant point. “Hello.” 

The girl startled, gathering the baby closer to her chest and taking a step away, dragging the resisting boy with her. “We don’t want no trouble, mister.” She had done well, he thought, the younger child might be barefoot, but she had wrapped him in scraps of fabric, knots tied over his hands and feet. 

Ardyn crouched down by the younger child - mouth and chin completely covered by some length of fabric against the cold. 

“Ardyn.” He took a step closer to them, but the older man only waved him away.

"How long ago was he bitten, and by whom?"

"I-" the older child went ashen, clutching at the younger. "You are mistaken."

Ardyn's smile was gentle. "Your father? It has the feel of resentment about it."

The girl started to cry, tears making clean tracks in the dirt on her face. "I tried to stop him. I tried. I kept hitting him with the pan, but he wouldn't stop."

"Shhh. How many days, my dear?"

"Two days ago. I-he started-he started doin’ the same and I didn’t…I couldn’t just leave him..." The girl looked to the man, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I had to try. There's no one else left."

"You did well to get him here. And with no other bites? Good." Ardyn placed a somewhat gentle hand on the small boys back, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

“Please.” The girl whimpered. “Please, Mister.” 

Regis got out of the car behind them, leaning on the hood. “Six…”

The light that gathered around him was pure, bright. It caused no pain to look at it – some of those closest even seemed to edge closer to it. 

The boy coughed, batting at the rags she had wrapped around his mouth and chin. Ardyn gently undid them, completely uncovering a small but otherwise human face beneath them. 

“Right as rain, though he will catch a chill if you don’t get some warmer clothes soon.” Ardyn said brightly, taking the baby from her unresisting arms and tapping lightly on its chest until it, too, gave a little cough. “Pneumonia is very easy, next to the darkness. Keep her warm and dry for a few days, and all will be well.” He touched the older girl, giving her a soft smile. “You did well, Lasha.”

The older girl took the baby, clutching both of her siblings’ close, sobs shaking her body. “Thank you. Thank you. Astrels…thank you. Gods.” 

Ardyn stepped away and walked back towards the car, meeting Regis’ eye for a moment as he passed, sliding into the back seat.

“Wesk, make sure they’re looked after.” Regis ordered, lowering himself back in the car.

He was left alone, staring at the girl and the children. Trying to make sense of what he had just seen.


	7. Chapter 7

Regis was speaking softly to Ardyn when he got in the car, stroking his hair and soothing him through what appeared to be a bad spasm. Ardyn had crunched himself into the middle space, face on the arm rest.

He slid in next to him, feeling the slight easing of tension where his body touched. "How did you do that? I thought only the Oracle could heal the Scourge?"

"Somnus could not heal." Ardyn murmured. "But that was ever my gift. Breaks, normal illnesses....ah it was ever easy to tend to those. Aera could heal as well. She had a gentle hand for it, a softness I did not. Did he find the children a place?"

He slid an arm around the taunt shoulders. "Wesk is settling the agreement now. A few guard will be here within just two days to take them back to the city. Clarus pulled a few strings, they are going to his wife to be made a part of their household."

Some of the tension eased, but the fact that some remained worried him. "Ardyn? Are you well?"

"It is...taxing. After all this time. Touch eases it. Even the second hand stain hurts. So much resentment. So much distain for that boy. Not his boy, you see. He so wanted a male child, but the two she gave him were girls. He could see it in the nose and eyes, knew that she must have spent the time he was away with another. Ah, he hated him so." Ardyn sighed, a small shudder winding through him. 

"A...stain?" He looked at Regis, but Regis shook his head a little, still stroking Ardyn's head with little threads of power woven through.

"The Infernian’s curse, so that. We might be humbled before him for our betrayal. Why the gods allowed it to remain...it is a sickness of spirit that becomes one with the flesh. To ease it, to banish it, I must take their sin within myself and Grant them mercy."

He tightened the arm around Ardyn's shoulders, and obligingly Ardyn leaned into his body.

"It does help." Ardyn breathed. "This car is a tight fit, the press of others against me - good men, flawed men, but good all the same - eases it some. I am glad that I granted the child mercy. It...eases my own stain." Guilt colored his tone. "Those men I killed...t'was reflex only, but still my body. To use it in such a manner speaks ill of gifts given to me."

"There is such a thing as self-defense." Regis told him gently. "They were attacking us."

"They were young. Painfully young. He had done something to them, but still so young. They did not want to die." The softness of his voice was surprising, but even after a year of constant contact with the supposed "Accursed", there were depths to the man that he had not yet been willing to reveal.

"Perhaps the current Oracle might have some guidance?" He suggested, rubbing Ardyn's shoulders.

"I should like to meet her. Thank you, Regis. That eased it greatly."

"Of course. Ask if you need it again, tis only power and meant to be shared."

Ardyn chuckled softly at that. "Are you certain Somnus was your forefather?"

"As certain as I am of anything that occurred two thousand years ago. You raise many questions, my friend." Regis gave him a fond look.

"I am afraid I offer few answers. I slept through the days of yore." Ardyn shifted, settling his weight across his lap, careful to leave enough space for the other two members of their party to join them.

Most often, despite the fact that Clarus and Ardyn were the largest members of the party, it was the four of them in the back seat. Regis was slight and could just as often be found half curled on Clarus's lap like a cat. While Wesk and Cid didn't seem to mind the tactile nature of the prince, it seemed better to leave the job to his assigned body pillow.

Despite his earlier reservations it really wasn't that bad. They traded off driving in shifts, argued, camped and made contact with the scattered Lucian army as commanded.

It was something like peace. Even if it wasn't what he was used to at all. He had the vague sense that he might miss it when they joined the army properly and returned to their roles. A prince and his retinue.

Nothing more.

But for now it was his, and he was pleased to have it.

Regis caught his eye and smiled faintly. "No more miracles today. We are meant to be incognito."

"As you say." Ardyn whispered, already half asleep. 

 

*~*

Everyone had an opinion. While he loved his friends, dearly - after so many years at their side he could not help but love them.

But he would ever be the younger brother, the protected one. None of them would let him challenge.

So what if the rest had failed to return? He was not the rest of them. He was Cor Leonis, the youngest royal guard in history. He was a companion to the king, right hand of the Accursed. Even King Mors had recognized his skill.

He was not everyone else who had fought through and failed.

He was capable. 

"Going after all?" A soft voice spoke up behind him. 

He startled, scowling at Ardyn. "Come to speak your piece on why I shouldn't?"

Ardyn smiled at him, an old pain shadowing his eyes. "No, as always your fate is yours to choose." He stepped forward, resting his fingers gently against his forehead. There was the sense of power pulsing through him, hmming beneath his skin.

He drew a breath, startled.

"I wish only to give you one command: return." Ardyn whispered, dropping the hand to grip his shoulder. "And give him my greetings. To find him so cursed warms my heart."

He blinked. "You know who waits?"

Ardyn nodded, grimacing lightly. "He killed me once. It did not take. Remind him of that, if you would not mind? No doubt he will be furious." He hesitated, then gave a lopsided smile. "Best hold those messages until he has been defeated."

He inclined his head slightly. "I will give them to him."

Ardyn's grip tightened for a moment, tiredness creasing his face. "I will tell the others where you have gone."

He nodded, tightening his grip on his sword and walked on, squaring his shoulders as he went.

He kept his gaze forward, never looking back even as he entered the ruin and loosed his sword.

If Ardyn shadowed him, he did not wish to know. He refused the chill of fear that wanted to form.

He had chosen this path.

He kept reminding himself of that as he faced the ghosts that haunted the place, pushing ever forward. Here and there he found the corpse of a Lucian soldier - a few Nifs as well - but as he moved deeper the bodies became older, the skin leathery and worn, their colors and garb unfamiliar.

He fought. He moved. He pushed deeper into this tomb - it may not have started as a tomb, but it was now. 

The cavern he stepped into was full of steel - rusted by long exposure, old swords, good swords, swords so cheap the metal was scored, and at least one that breathed magic when he settled fingers on it. There was nothing else there, despite all the promise of the Blade master waiting for him.

He drew the magical sword from the dirt, testing its weight in his hands. It was balanced, beautifully made and hitched through a sword belt that included a dagger, the weathered leather showed signs of wear, but was in good repair.

"One sword demands another." A soft voice murmured behind him. "Thou hast the taste to merit consideration."

He caught the reflection of the ghost in the sword and turned to face him. "Were all ancient men such giants? Or does immortality result in some gain of height?"

The ghost - more a ghoul, there was flesh and bone beneath the armor - laughed, the sound like dry leaves rubbing against each other. "A wit as well as a fighter. Give to me the knowledge thou holds, dost prophecy now grow legs that give thee knowledge of ancient men? Hast that accursed creature walked free?"

He smiled, setting the sword and it's belt down to draw his own. "Fight Me, and we will both learn."

Another dry leaf laugh. "If that is thine will." A sword sprung from the air, a flash of the Crystal's magic. "So let it be."

The title was not ill given, the man at his opposite was a master of the blade.

What he may lack in age, though, he made up for spirit.

Time bled away as they danced, the clash of blades their only music. He yielded first blood without realizing until the wound above his eyebrow stung and blood threatened his vision. But he took second and third.

Night had almost fallen completely when he took the fiend's arm, though the victory was short lived, for in the next motion he took his sword.

"You fought well." The blade master said, looking down at the sword. "You have earned your life."

He was breathing hard, chest and clothing soaked with sweat. "Ardyn sends his greetings. He walks free. He said that to find you similarly cursed warms him as naught else could."

Another dry chuckle left the ghost. "Truely. He has survived the darkness well, then. A shock, I must admit. Know thee where he stands?"

He licked his lips, tasting the salt from his sweat, nodding his head towards the lip of the canyon above them. 

He shocked the ghost. He had the sense of that. "With the blood..."

"The house of Caelum is again one with them." He challenged, levering himself up. Ardyn had said he might be angry, he should probably find his feet and lay claim to a sword if they were to fight again.

Another leaf dry laugh - then, nothing. The night fell completely around him 

"You are a damned fool." Clarus's voice said. "Damned useless fool."

He groaned, twisting within the grip of the hands dragging him.

"He's alive. Bloodied, but alive. Damned fool." Clarus was still cursing him between explanations. "I found him at the entrance clutching that. Damned fool, I thought he was dead. But apparently even the ghosts didn't want to put up with him. Blood all over his face from the cut above his eyes, two cracked Ribs. Idiot. Fucking idiot. I told you not to go."

He grunted, trying to twist free. 

Hands touched his face, and then something wet. He tried to close his mouth around it - his throat was dry and felt like cracked glass - but whoever had the rag kept it out of reach.

He groaned when he was dropped, lifting one of his leaden arms to grab at the cloth 

"Serves you right. Dumbass. Prideful idiot. What the hell were you thinking? What did you gain?"

"I think he heard you, Clarus." Regis said above him, amused. "The entire camp heard you."

"Let him surfer with the headache. Dumbass."

He opened his eyes when some of the grit was cleared from them, squinting at him. Ardyn was leaning over him too. "Gave him...your message."

"I can see that." Ardyn looked amused. "Which of us wins for looks? Should I pay the old ghost a visit?"

He snorted, wincing. "Water, please, before I am as dry as he is."

Ardyn laughed, lifting a canteen to press to his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

It took a few days for the rumors to start, he knew they had by the hushed conversation that always seemed to quiet just as he entered a room. Someone had let it slip – and if he was honest with himself, probably Clarus in an attempt to shame him.

“He’s Immortal.” Someone whispered, before their companions hushed him.

Ardyn looked entirely too gleeful to not have heard something. But he was pretending not to notice where it had come from.

He tensed his hand over the new sword – he had unstrung it from the gaudy belt, choosing to send that to some preservation society. But it was a waste of a good blade to send it off. The dagger had fit almost perfectly in his boot – blued steel still sharp after the eternity it had spent in the lair of the blade master. He liked the sword, he liked the balance of it. But he disliked entirely the notice it had gained him.

“Cor the Immortal.” One of the superior officers drawled the next time he was in the mess, shadowing Regis and Ardyn, unexpectedly in the spotlight as every eye turned their way.

Clarus huffed, stilled laughter making his chest vibrate, and kept walking. Shepherding their little party to the line for food. 

He glared at the officer, but didn’t say anything as he followed. The last thing he needed was something like that – he had failed to defeat the blade master, the only difference was that he had lived to tell the tale. He was no mark of success.

“Chin up, I am sure it will fade with the next round of fighting.” Ardyn said, unsympathetic. “Though it does has a certain ring to it, rather imposing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you start.”

The ancient prince laughed. “Oh my dear friend, you cannot possibly know what you ask for.”

He grit his teeth, catching Clarus’ look. “I failed the trial.”

“But you lived. Serves you right, maybe it will remind you.” Clarus growled, voice low. It suited him that the king’s retinue were viewed as more dangerous than they looked. It suited him for rumors to go ahead of them, it smoothed the way for Regis to do his job. He could almost read Clarus’ mind. “You walked away with hide intact, with a new sword as mark of favor. But you barely walked away at all.” 

“I don’t think he favored mel.” He mumbled darkly. 

“Actully, the sword probably did.” Regis commented. “It has a spark of old magic.”

“A ‘spark’?” Ardyn echoed, shooting the prince a look that he couldn’t quite chase down the meaning of.

Regis shrugged, extending one arm out, open palmed at his side, eyebrows arching. 

Ardyn huffed, but did not speak on it again.

“The sword likely missed its old master, and chose the next fool to lay hand on it. I would wager he was unable to pry it from your fingers once he granted you your life.” Regis explained. “But do remember that the last fool that held it likely lost his life there, so do not think it grants you too much immunity.” 

“Thanks.” He closed his hand around the sword, tighter, the grip biting into his palm. It had markings on it – something that Ardyn could read but refused to translate – and a large gem in the pommel. The gem was matched by the heart stone on the dagger. It all meant something, something that sent Ardyn into giggles, which he assumed meant it would not harm him.

At least not fatally, knowing his friends. 

“Next to Accordo?” Clarus asked, arms crossed over his chest while Regis scanned the buffet style meal for anything that he deemed edible. Clarus could – and would – eat anything. But Regis was slightly pickier and the judgement of if they would eat with the soldiers or skip and find something at the next stop was always left in the prince’s hands. 

“Hm. I think so. I need to convene with my father. I wonder how Sylva is? I haven’t seen her since we were children, she has a husband now.” Regis murmured, finally picking up a tray and moving down the line.

“So no flirting with her royal highness the queen of Tenebrae, Oracle of the Six.” Clarus teased, picking up a tray of his own.

They fell into step behind. 

“Well, flirting. But nothing further. I have morals, you know. Never bed a wedded woman, no matter how willing.” Regis stated mildly, laughter dancing in his eyes. “In truth, though, I doubt she would have me. I split Cactur sap all over her favorite shawl as a child and was otherwise a terror when we visited. Father was quite cross with me.” 

“A real ladies man right from the start, huh?” Clarus asked, picking up something that looked entirely dubiously like meat. 

Ardyn was listening, silent laughter enhancing his similar features for once. 

It was a marvel, how two thousand years could separate these men and yet still they could be seen to resemble one another. 

“I find that young girls are quite forgiving creatures, though Aera did hold the loss of a book when we were children rather more strongly in her heart than I expected as an adult.” Ardyn said softly, picking from among the selections until his tray was mostly a pile of confections. 

“Sylva had quite the temper when we were young. She chased me up a tree and set her messenger on me in retaliation. I do wonder what Tenebrae– so close to Niflheim – might have to say on their recent movements. Their attempts to smuggle you out were not the first.” Regis tossed a look at Ardyn, face concerned. 

“Nor I imagine them to be the last. The researcher-general seemed quite enamored of me.” Ardyn lifted his shoulders slightly.

He pressed a little closer on reflex, and Ardyn rewarded him with a small smile. “I think that table is opening, best go snatch it.”

He sighed, turning from the three of them to grab it. 

Wesk and Cid should be done with the radios soon – and more than happy to pick on him as well. Gods, he hoped the new title didn’t spread outside of this outpost.


	9. Chapter 9

Regis had insisted on his own boat, which meant that they took the wider way out from Cape Caim. Not so close as Galdin was to the island, but it could still be seen in the distance. 

Ardyn watched Angelgard from the bow, arms linked around his knees and chin settled upon them.

The sunset framed the ragged island - empty now, there was no reason to post a guard on the inhospitable crag.

They left him, after he made it clear he wanted no company. 

He held his watch until it was lost in the mist and distance, then came to join them downstairs.

Wesk vacated the spot next to him on the couch, letting Ardyn curl into his side, limp bodied and uncaring of the game of cards they were playing.

Clarus got up and got him a beer, and the rest of them another round so that Ardyn would not feel called out.

"Want to talk?" He asked quietly, prodding gently.

"Not very much to say, I am afraid." Ardyn sighed, rolling his wrists and stretching out his arm. "When Somnus realized I could not be killed by blade, he tried to burn me, and when that failed, he bound my hands and feet, using the crystal to hold me until we made it to the island. I drifted, lost between realities and dreaming, but I awoke when we arrived. They took me into the prison - even then, that was what the rock was used for - and hooked chains through my skin. I recall that vividly, I swore oaths and begged for mercy with all sanity I had left. But I was a monster, those who tended me did not care to hear me."

He pushed his shoulder against Ardyn's, risking a touch to the back of his hand.

The room was very still, even Cid leaned close to listen. 

Ardyn turned his hand and grasped his fingers loosely, studying them intently. "I slept. I dreamed. It was peaceful. The crystal at least granted me that relief."

"You were a prisoner, unjustly detained." Regis murmured, moving to put his hand on Ardyn's leg. 

There was a tiny flinch, but Ardyn clasped it to keep it from moving away, clinging to them both for strength.

"They had no right to bind you or cast you down. What they did...that my blood shares that betrayal. I shall spend the rest of my life in atonement."

Ardyn nodded shakily. "T'was not your crime, Regis, and you who saw that my freedom was maintained."

“But still my pleasure to redeem what is left of my family of it. The crime was done, recompense must be made.” Regis had a way of speaking everything, no matter the situation, in which one imagined a scribe scribbling furiously to try to take every word down.

Ardyn held his hand, looking so very lost as only a man with almost nothing left to him save the save his name might. “I thank you for that.” 

“I wonder if he regretted it.” Clarus said into the silence. “I can’t imagine someone entombing their own brother in stone alive resting easily.”

“If he did, he never did anything while he lived to atone.” Cid looked uncomfortable. 

“True.” Ardyn said softly. “I think I went mad for a time, before the dream allowed me respite. I screamed for him to face me – to kill me, really. For I would gladly have died. But nobody ever came to see me till they broke open the stones.”

“No one was allowed. It was passed down the line, the stones were sealed.” Regis said, fingers tangled with Ardyn’s. “It was said that to enter your chamber would free you. I presume so that none would check and discover that a man had been so detained.” 

“I wonder who said? Somnus? He would have known what he had wrought.” Ardyn leaned back with a sigh. “So many questions, and none who might know the answers here to ask.” 

“Do you think the blade master would know?” He asked, pressing his shoulder against Ardyn’s. 

“Oh, perhaps. He was never much for talking. Somnus was ever the brains behind that particular operation.” Ardyn shook his head. “All strength and little thought. I never much liked him, which was a feeling shared between us.”

“Heh.” Clarus frowned. “If he’s the founder king, where did the pair of you come from?” 

“Oh. We were born in a field of wheat among the harvest, poured from the jar of a milkmaid as she ended her day afield. Then we were raised by wolves and taught fury and fierceness, or so the story goes.” Ardyn said, some of his spark back, eyes dancing with the jest. “In truth, the Caelum line is said to extend back to Solheim, and while neither us nor any of our forefathers was properly a king, we were noble enough to lead armies and scare of bandits. It’s said that Caelum was a prince of ancient Solheim, that that was where our power came from. A six touched line, for certain.” 

“Yeah. You certainly read as ‘touched’.” Clarus retorted. 

Ardyn flipped him off with casual certainty. “I came by my powers honestly.” 

“So what about your parents? Didn’t they have a say in the whole thing.” Clarus pressed. 

Ardyn shrugged, clearly disinterested in the topic. “I doubt they cared. They went the reclusive way after Somnus and I became adults, I had not seen nor thought of them for years. It was common, then.” 

“Perhaps Sylva might have some answers for us?” Regis suggested mildly. 

“If she wishes to share them, I rather think she might.” Ardyn’s forehead knit. “I do not know that she will. Who knows what the gods intend to make of all this?” 

“Only a meeting will tell us.” Regis gave his hand a squeeze. “Until then. Perhaps a game of chess?”

Ardyn brightened, sitting up. “Certainly. I shall place the board to resume our last game.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Regis!” Sylva called, crossing to them with hands outstretched. 

If she remembered him as the naughty boy who had once tormented her, she did not in any way show it. She was classically beautiful, he guessed, with fine skin that made her look like a sculpture that had gained life and walked away from her display. 

Regis clasped her hands, giving them a squeeze, and kissed her cheeks. “Sylva, so good to see you. Letters do not compare to the music of your voice.”

She rolled her eyes, decorum forgotten. “Do not think to try me, Regis, I remember you well. Who are these who have accompanied you?” 

Regis laughed off the comment, turning. “My good friends and bodyguards – I traveled lightly to avoid notice. Clarus I am sure you remember.” 

Sylva smiled sweetly. “I do. Still his shadow?”

“My joy and duty, Majesty.” Clarus gave a small bow. 

“Cid Sophiar, good friend and better mechanic. He has kept us moving forward.” Regis introduced. “Weskham Armaugh, my steward and advisor. Cor Leonis – I wrote you about him – my bodyguard. And.” Regis paused, eyes falling on the last member of the party.

Ardyn was standing behind him – hiding, if someone so large could manage such a thing.

Regis looked back at Sylva, who was staring at Ardyn, something like wonder on her face. “This is Ardyn Lucis Caelum.” 

“The Accursed.” Sylva whispered, stepping forward. 

Ardyn gave a bow. “Majesty.” 

She reached out her hands as she had with Regis, and after a moment of hesitation Ardyn offered his in return. 

Her brow furrowed, eyes closing, power pulsing around their joined hands for a moment before she smiled, shoulders relaxing, face smoothing. “Ardyn….”

Something shifted in Ardyn’s face, he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Thank you.” 

“We should talk, later. I did not think to bring it, but I have a gift for you from my foremother. I should also like to hear from you about her.” She lifted his chin and caressed his cheek. “But do not bow to me again, lest you mean it.”

Humor lightened his face, brief. “I shall always mean it with you.”

She laughed, giving his hand a faint squeeze. “Later.” 

“Of course.”

Clarus whistled lowly as she swept from the room. “Two thousand years and you still have it. What was the light show?”

Ardyn was staring after the Queen, face relaxed and quiet. “It was the old way. Ah…I suppose it is long forgotten. She is quite the deft mage. I had not felt such warmth…” He trailed off, clearly mulling it over, smile dancing over his lips. 

“Someone has a crush.” Clarus teased. “Maybe it is not Regis we need to worry about.”

Regis looked just as amused. “That went better than I expect it. I was not sure how she would receive you.”

“She has nothing to fear from me.” Ardyn asserted quietly. “There is no mark upon her soul, only a long sought echo of someone quite dear to me. I shall look forward to learning her.”

“I hope this bodes well for our reason for being here.” Wesk frowned, looking mildly at the door. “She did leave rather quickly.”

“These were stolen moments.” Regis explained. “We are to meet properly, later, when the nations convene. She wanted to speak with us privately before that.”

Wesk shot Ardyn a look. “She had not much to say.”

“And yet she offered her support.” Regis replied, giving a sharp little nod. “Come. There are quarters for us prepared. We should wash and dress ourselves to be received properly.” 

*~*

He did not ask, later, when Ardyn slipped away. He made some excuse to Clarus that the man had gone to get some air, stifled in the palace and the only one among them that could. 

When he returned shortly before dawn, ruffled, but looking more relaxed, he had a decent guess what had gone on. Sylva was observationally beautiful, and had rank, which he thought should put her in good standing as a partner, even if he couldn’t see the appeal.

Ardyn had washed and dressed before Clarus woke up and deftly avoided any questions about presumed nighttime activities, alluding to how lovely the stars were above the sea and how fine Altissia was. 

The meetings managed to chase any thought of Ardyn and the Queen out of his head, there was much to be discussed and Regis remained mostly at the center of it.

The only slip either of them gave to the contrary was once during lunch when she took his hand and he lightly grazed her cheek with his fingertips, saying something softly that made her laugh before she drew away. 

He was relatively certain he knew what was going on, and not sure if he was meant to stop it. If she had a husband, as Regis had implied, there seemed to be no one that cared of her flirtation. Which likely meant it was safe? 

He hoped, anyway. 

Clarus was staring at Ardyn from across the dining hall, pale and looking like he had seen a ghost. 

Well. Maybe not so harmless then.

Though there was no time to address it when they were surrounded by dignitaries and representatives who had treated it like nothing to be remarked on.

He made his way to Clarus side. “I think…”

“Yeah. I saw them. Damnit, I got Regis to agree to not try anything. I figured he had more sense than this.” Clarus looked pained. 

“He’s not that old. Younger than Cid. Relatively. It seems harmless.” Cor shrugged, uncertain, still.

“Matriarchal Monarchy, if she has a kid, that kid is the heir if it’s a girl. That’s how they’ve been handing their power down for generations. If he gets her pregnant, and it’s a girl then the Oracle will be a Lucis Caelum. That’s a big deal.” Clarus explained, hushed and urgent.

“Is it?” He shook his head. “I don’t see why. They’re both willing participants.”

Clarus sighed heavily and gave his shoulder a pat. “Just…see if you can deter him. Even if just for a little bit.”

“Nobody can stop him from doing what he wants.” 

Clarus looked even more pained at that.


	11. Chapter 11

He woke to Ardyn entering his room, hand tensing briefly on the dagger under his pillow before the familiar breathing eased his nerves.

"I did not mean to wake you." Ardyn whispered, settling his frame on the bed next to him with a small sigh.

"You never mean to." He complained faintly, shifting to resettle the man against shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Oh...nothing, truely. It is a simple want to avoid loneliness. A small crisis demanded Sylva's attention so I removed myself from her quarters."

"Hm." He yawned, letting his fingers curl against the back of Ardyn's skull. "Does it help?"

"Sylva? She eases some things and reminds me of others. It is complicated." Ardyn nestled into his shoulder with a little hm. "Jealous?"

"Of Sylva? No. You may spend your time where you like. I am glad you have found someone." There was no reason to be jealous of that. Regis had lovers, as did Clarus. He felt no resentment. 

Ardyn chuckled softly, breath gentle against his shoulder. "You are a marvel."

He grunted. "Go to sleep if you are staying."

"Yes, master Leonis. I shall sleep." Fingers caught in his shirt, body going heavy against his side.

He envied the ease in which Ardyn slid into sleep, it took him almost another hour to find it again.

~*~  
He caught Ardyn pulling up the hood of he jacket just before the doors opened and Nif soldiers filled in ahead of the Emperor.

Aldercapt walked next to Bethesia, a smirk teasing at the corner of his lips as he looked around the room. 

Wesk dropped back, hands out and opened at his side, protecting Regis flank.

Clarus moved closer, mostly blocking the shorter prince from view.

"How nice that we are all now gathered here." Aldercapt said into the silence, sweeping the gaze over the group. "I trust that you have all come here to deliver your unconditional surrenders?"

Cor moved to cover Ardyn and Sylva, scanning the room for Cid, who mirrored Wesk's stance, eyes narrowed.

Ardyn shifted a step closer to the queen, who stood still as a statue, gazing at the soldier to Aldercapt's right.

"You were not invited. We come to discuss your abuses." One of the dignities said, voice curt. "Leave."

"What have you done, Aldercapt?" Sylva asked quietly. "What is this abomination you have brought?"

Aldercapt looked pleased with her notice. "Queen Sylva, you are radiant as always. I am glad you noticed. Even now my factories produce these soldiers by the hundred. Each stronger than the last, more obedient, better formed. Miasma and human parts woven together into one perfect soldier."

The sound of disgust she made was mirrored by Ardyn behind her.

"Adagium may have escaped us for now. But he still taught us much that went into their making." Bethesia had eyes only for Ardyn, apparently insufficiently masked from view. "We do not fear the Scourge, we make use of it."

"Your hubris will doom us all." Sylva whispered, one hand lifting to her throat and the other resting very briefly on her stomach.

Bethesia noticed, something dark gleaming in his eyes. "It will only doom those who dare to stand against is.'

Aldercapt seemed intrigued, glancing between Sylva and Ardyn.

He moved to block their view, sword unnaturally warm in his hand.

"And where is the prince who called for these meetings? Snuck out the back door, too much of a coward to face us?" Aldercapt demanded.

"I am here, Aldercapt." Regis stepped around Clarus, moving forward to stand next to Sylva. "I was bracing myself for an encounter with that pitiable creature. Can you heal it?"

Ardyn hesitated for a moment. "I could try. It might only end it, for they have rushed its growth to this stage."

Aldercapt perked up, gesturing the creature forward. "Feel welcome to try, Adagium. I should like to see the attempt."

"A trap, surely." Sylva breathed. "Do not. It will lead to naught."

"It suffers." Ardyn said gently in responce. "I cannot leave it so, or I would be the monster they claim me to be."

Sylva looked distressed, but inclined her head. "Use care."

Ardyn's fingers touched her arm for a moment, a bloom of power throbbing between them.

The creature of flesh and metal stood before him, masked face expressionless.

He stepped forward past it, blocking Bethesia from moving to Ardyn, glaring them both down as Ardyn approached it.

The creature smelled wrong. Old death and lingering decay. The room was so still around them he could hear each breath, feel the stares on them.

"I am sorry." Ardyn murmured to the creature behind him. "I do not know if I can save you, but I will ask the gods to give me strength to try."

He glanced back as Ardyn settled hands on it, eyes closing as he sought what he needed within it.

It felt like the entire room held their breath. The power on the moment was unmistakable. Ardyn breathed in deeply, Bethesia took a half step forward, eyes eager.

He blocked the mad man with his body, eyes narrowed. "no."

"It is my project." The man objected.

"Fuck you and your project. You have no right to it now." He withdrew his sword an inch from its sheath, warmth creeping up his arm as he did so. 

Ardyn made a low, distressed sound behind him and something shifted - the air became heavier behind him, thick with something he made no effort to understand. His job was simple. Deny Bethesia access.

The wail of a child sounded behind him, a clatter of metal and bone - the smell of ozone and a croon that was almost musical as Ardyn pulled the youngster from the wreckage, lifting it from the wreckage.

Regis, somehow able to take stock of and speak before anyone else had gathered their wits around them, stepped forward. "This child it a citizen of Nifilheim. Such is the fate of all who yield to your rule, Aldercapt. Your children will be stolen, their bodies warped and sped along to serve the empire."

Ardyn's voice cut through it, gentle. "What is your name?"

"Alessa." The child whispered, face still hidden in his shoulder.

"Such is the power of the Adagium." Bethesia murmured, fascinated. "As I told you, your immanence."

Aldercapt moved, smiling broadly. "To reverse so much is an effort, is it not? But you have returned her to a child."

"She was unnaturally twisted. I reversed it all to be done." Ardyn cuddled the child for a moment, wrapping the girl in his cloak to shield her from the eyes.

"This is the fate of our children if we do not fight." Regis said, gazing about the room. Locking eyes with each and every person there, including Aldercapt. "Where shall you stand my friends?"

 

~*~

It took no small amount of struggle to expel Aldercapt and his entrouge, and much careful watch to keep Bethesia away from Ardyn and the little girl who clung to him like a second shadow.

But they managed.

In the end, each and every nation signed on to the treaty. With Regis's words and Ardyn's magic, there was little other choice. Aldercapt had accomplished the opposite of his goal, proving the risk.

They would sign to save their own necks, if nothing else. 

Alessa was a small thing, barely toddling, but their was a look in her eyes that went far deeper than any toddling child should go.

"You may hold her if you wish, her fear has exhausted her." Ardyn offered, stroking the tiny head - bald at the moment, but he had a suspicion that Ardyn was using some light magic to restore it, for there was a dark fuzz that he was sure had not been there some hours ago beginning to form.

The armor he had drawn her from had been carefully taken away for study.

"She looks too comfortable to be stirred. Will she recover?" He asked, shifting his sword as he sat next to the healer.

"I do not know that she will return to her former self, but I believe that outside of nightmares that will haunt her she will be only slightly altered by the experience." Ardyn smiled gently, leaning his body slightly into him. "I, however, am entirely exhausted and would very much like to retreat to my room before the lights become much brighter. Do you think the prince will need us?"

He glanced across the room at Regis, who commanded a small audience - Clarus and Wesk were standing to either side of him. He caught Clarus's eye, tilting his head slightly towards Ardyn and raising an eyebrow.

Clarus leaned forward, speaking quietly in Regis ear. The prince glanced over at them and nodded.

"We are dismissed." He stood, offering Ardyn his arm. 

"Thank the gods. Do you imagine she needs much more than she has? She ate a bit earlier."

"I imagine if she needs anything she will let us know." He rumbled, helping him up. "She already has more than she started with."

"Poor poppet." Ardyn leaned weight into him, allowing him to support him as they left the main chamber. 

He was entirely unsurprised that Ardyn directed them away from his own chambers and to the chambers that had been assigned to him. He gave the taller man a mild look.

Ardyn shrugged. “I am too tired to start the night elsewhere, please?”

He sighed. “At least I might sleep through the night.” He eyed the baby thoughtfully. He didn’t object to her, exactly. It was frustrating to find his formerly private life invaded by someone else, who had every bit as much say in it as he did.

He supposed. At least. Regis had given him this assignment. 

The expected token resistance was there, but he found he did not mind much as Ardyn settled the child between them on the bed, the tiny, exhausted weight of the tot not making much difference, save for the shape that Ardyn’s body had to make to touch his.

~*~

He woke with a start to a light and soft breathing in his room, and turned to regard the queen settled on the edge of his bed. 

"Peace." She whispered, hand resting gently on Ardyn's shoulders. "I did not mean to wake you."

"Neither does he. But he always does." He sat up a bit on his shoulder to watch her, not slipping free of the hold Ardyn had on his shirt, balled up near his hip. He was reminded again of an escaped sculpture. A thing made of marble worked by the hands of a master into such beauty that it had been granted life and walked away. "I am coming to expect it."

She laughed, hair a fallen tangle of soft blond curls, dress given up for a nightgown and a robe. "I was worried about him."

"He has that effect on people." Whatever she did with the light was easing the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. "It takes more from him than he admits."

"I know. He is very brave. Regis could not have so deftly turned the crowd without him. He has saved many lives." She touched the child on the crown of the head with a little sigh. There was hair, now, pale ashen blonde curls stood out an inch from her head, proving that he had been right in his earlier assumption that Ardyn was using a more subtle magic to keep restroing her. "I had never imagined I would meet him."

He blinked. "In Lucis we feared it."

“Of course you did. Somnus wrote your history, he told you to fear it.” She seemed mildly amused. “We told a different tale.”

He watched her leaning over Ardyn, the softness in her features surprising him. It had only been a few days, did she care so much already? “Do you love him?”

“I could. Easily. We could love each other very well. But it would be from a distance, sadly. He has never been able to abandon Lucis, and my duties would forbid me from joining him where his heart is.” She gave him a sad little twist of her lips. “So I will cherish these moments he gives me, or what I can steal away. Do you love him?”

“I care for him. The prince wishes me to look after him.” He tilted his head slightly. Love? He wasn’t sure. He had never loved someone before, except for his brothers. He had no idea what it felt like to be in love with anyone. He loved Ardyn with the same fierceness he loved Regis or Clarus, no more heat to it, nor any other feelings. 

So perhaps not. 

He was dear to him, almost certainly. But he was not certain how to classify it. How to determine if Ardyn were any different from those he had sworn himself to. 

His loyalty was a steady thing, not easily granted, but very rarely revoked. It pulled him and demanded much of him, but it held him back at times. Which was likely why Verstal had escaped without his new sword through his skull.

“Can you help him?” He asked instead. 

She smiled, her eyes seeming to glow with the light of her healing. “Always.”


	12. Chapter 12

They stayed a further three months in Altissa, letting the child acclimate to her new status of ‘living’, and for Ardyn and Sylva to dance around each other as only a pair of truly seasoned politicians could.

 

Ardyn conceded nothing on the part of Lucis, though they shared a bed more nights than not – occasionally his bed – and she conceded nothing at all of Tenabrea, though their eyes were always for each other and their hands seemed to graze coincidentally through whatever situation they found themselves in.

 

“Jealous?” Clarus asked, stopping next to him as he watched the queen and the Healer-Prince say their goodbyes. “They’re over there kissing on each other and you’re over here by yourself holding the kid.”

 

He shrugged his shoulders. “What they are to each other is nothing of my concern. Nor any of yours.”

 

Clarus eyed him curiously. “I thought….well, all three of you were...”

 

He stared at Clarus, keeping his face perfectly neutral.

 

Allessa tugged at his shoulder, pointing into the bay at one of the boats that had caught her attention – he obligingly turned to admire it with her, arms supporting her slight weight as he waited on his Prince.

 

“I wasn’t trying to pry. You all seem pretty happy with whatever is going on.” Clarus said, cautious.

 

He shrugged, listening to the baby chatter against his shoulder about the boats, warmth settled in his chest.

 

“Anyway, like you said. It’s your business.” Clarus clapped his shoulder gently, and went to join Regis near the boat, talking over some small matter.

 

There was a rush of photographs and partings, polite exchanges of word that tasted sour in his mouth. Dishonest. The threat of Nifilheim had unified them, not erased all of the difference they had. They would drift apart again as soon as the unifying force vanished from their world. There was no threat here, and he found it much more peaceable to watch the bay with Alessa to give him the excuse.

 

“I wish I could know you better.” Sylva said softly from next to him.

 

He startled a bit, surprised by her appearance. “Magisty.”

 

“Bodyguard.” She slid him a sly smile his way. “I think we are well enough acquainted with each other to cease the titles, do you not agree.”

 

He twitched his lips, trying to smile. “Forgive me, Majesty….habits.”

 

She nodded. “I like King Mors, but he is a hard man with very little flexibility. Regis will be a softer king, I think. Will it be better? Hard to say. I like to think that this world has enough hardness that empathy might do the trick.”

 

He sighed, clutching the child.

 

“You are not a very wordy man.” She laughed softly, crossing her hands infront of her body. “But that is alright. I have liked learning you, and should like to know you better. But I understand.”

 

“Do you?” If she did, he would very much like her to explain it to him, because he was lost. He had no idea what any of this meant to him, nor any clue what to do about it.

 

“I hope so.” She smiled again. “Keep him safe.”

 

That, at least, he could promise her. “I will. Lucis is…at times a very hard place. But I think he will thrive with his own.”

 

She nodded, glancing at Ardyn who was speaking softly to one of the delegates. “It has been a harder road for him than most, but he has come through with kindness in his heart in large part because of you and your actions.”

 

He highly doubted that, his face must have told her.

 

She smiled. “A great ill was nearly missed with the application of a blanket, Cor Leonis. Perhaps that is the most powerful act yet. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

He shrugged. “I admit I am unsure, Majesty.”

 

She leaned forward, and for a panicked moment he thought she was about to kiss him, but in the end the kiss landed on the curl covered head of baby Alessa, who giggled and reached for the queen with absolutely no regard for station.

 

“I will miss you.” The queen said to the baby, but he had the feeling he was being included in it as well.

*~*

 

Lucis felt tight now. The city was still there, the missions that demanded his attention. Nothing had changed, and yet he somehow was the discordant piece.

 

Mors still didn’t like that Ardyn had the gall to walk around and interact with people as though he was a human being. The only people that really seemed to accept that Ardyn was part of their group were Clarus’s wife – Laelia – and Regis’ fiancé Aulea, whom he was less certain regarded Ardyn with honest like and more with active tolerance for what the prince had chosen.

Ardyn preferred Clarus’ household to the Citadel, if given a choice. He could bring Alessa to play with Lasha, Olivia and Tobin. If Laelia, a new bride, minded overmuch that her very new husband had insisted on the adoption of three children – one nearly grown – she had never raised a word of objection to it.

 

The three grew fat and healthy, with Lasha returned to school where she belonged.

 

“Gil for your thoughts?” Clarus muttered out of the side of his mouth.

 

“You might have the most tolerant wife in existence.” He returned, hands tucked behind his back. “How much longer?”

 

“Not much, if the gods have any mercy.” Clarus shifted his weight slightly, trying to subtly stretch his back. “If he doesn’t kiss her I might skin him.”

 

“Careful. I’m on duty, no threats to the crown.” He muttered, keeping their conversation quiet. The masks hid almost everything, but the fact that they had to watch Regis romance his fiancé was surely one of the more agonizing parts of being a royal guard.

 

There were minders aplenty, anyway. Weskham was standing not four feet away, reading a book, and Aulea had brought Monica with her. How anyone could engage in small talk at all with so many eyes on them escaped him.

 

“She likes the kids. We’re just waiting until…well.” Clarus sighed. “For that idiot to get wedded.”

 

“Think they’ll let him move it up?” He asked, shifting his hands.

 

“Not until he’s crowned, they’ll keep it in committee until then. Besides, his sister and brother have to be considered, and if he married her and they have a child before King Mors abdicates in favor of his heir, that will just make an entire mess.”

 

“I have never been so glad to be of a nothing house.” He muttered. “So much concern.”

 

Clarus snorted. “You might as well be, you and Ardyn have a kid.”

 

“Alessa is not my child. Nor is Ardyn my…anything, save my charge occasionally during public functions. My understanding was that he and your wife were convincing Jared to allow them use of the kitchens.”

 

“Mhm. Laelia knows how to cook, Ardyn is a decent baker. She said he managed to explode a few blenders last time they tried any ‘modern’ things. They like to do it with the kids. At least Alessa and the older two of mine, Olivia is too little to do more than babble.”

 

The claim slid easily out of Clarus’ mouth, confident. The three children Ardyn had saved were his children, as good as blood as far as the man was concerned. Tobin as good as an heir. He wondered if that would hold when Clarus finally got around to giving his wife naturally born children of the name? Would Tobin and the girls be set aside and forgotten?

 

He glanced at Clarus, pondering that. He was the only and last of his line, which was half of the reason he had joined the guard in the first place. Nobody cared what a Leonis did.

 

Amicitia on the other hand….

 

“Oh thank the six.” Clarus moved forward as Regis stood, offering Aulea his arm as they walked along.

 

Moving was a relief after standing at near attention for the last two hours while the pair chatted.

 

He could only hope that Regis planned on walking her home.

 

*~*

 

The day King Mors died dawned dreary. He was almost late to the change of shift – the child was sick, miserable, and had not wanted him to go. Which meant Ardyn was fussing and soothing her with magic and also did not wish him to go.

 

But he made it, falling into step behind the king as easily as he breathed.

 

The duties of the king ran over him like water, warm and sure. There was no risk, no warning, nothing until the man before him – the man who may have regarded him with a little more tension in his eyes because Ardyn but who was still his king – collapsed to the ground.

 

Mors made no sound, not even a cry of pain.

 

He was dead by the time he reached him, and nothing any of the healers who mobbed them tried would bring him back.

 

He felt numb by the time Regis arrived, Clarus flanking him, concern and panic just beginning to settle on his face.

 

Gods. Six. Why? The king was not that old. Surely not old enough for this.

 

“Cor.” Regis touched his shoulder, a gentle smile curling his lips. “Are you well?”

 

He stared at his prince, aghast. “Am _I_ well?”

 

Regis’ hand tightened ever so gently against his shoulder. “T’was his heart, Cor. There was nothing for you to protect him against. I am glad that it was you with him today, he died knowing he was guarded from all else. Safe.”

 

The prince was comforting him, now, here, in this moment. With his father barely cooling mere feet away. His prince was comforting him? The tragedy of that moment clung to him, the wry strength, closed off, with which Regis held himself. “My P-“ He stopped, horror deepening. “My _king.”_

The wry strength seemed to tighten around him, almost as though he had donned it to cloak himself against the emotions he must be feeling. “My friend.” Regis said, voice gentle but firm. “My friend. Cor. I need you.”

 

He bowed, the gesture automatic, even if Regis never removed the tight hand from his shoulder. “I am yours.”


	13. Chapter 13

Sylva was not carrying the infant, he noted. 

Probably too photographic of a moment, he wagered. He knew Ravus was being brought - Ardyn was more concerned with the infant than he was with the funeral that was bringing the babe and his mother to Lucis in the first place. 

He guessed that the lack of love between them had been mutual. Ardyn felt bad that Mors was dead only because it was upsetting Regis. 

Sylva took Regis's hands gently, squeezing them, real warmth on her face. "I am deeply sorry for your lost."

"I am thankful that you are here." Regis gave her a soft smile. "The council has insisted that the coronation follow the funeral directly."

"I know. It always seems so callus." She gave his hand a soft squeeze. "But I will stand next to you as always."

"I thank you for that my friend." 

She went to Ardyn next, though their greeting was chaste, and spared a small smile for him as she made her way inside the cathedral.

It should have been princess Astra behind him, but she had already taken a seat inside. Ardyn was the one that stood with Regis in his last act as Prince of Lucis. By the Dawn he would be crowned king. So it was writ, so it would be done. Lucis would not be without a king, the crystal demanded it. 

Ardyn moved a step closer as the next delegates appeared, leaning close, his hand curving around Regis' elbow in support. 

His prince leaned back against the support, clearly needing it.

He shifted, fixing his gaze on the Accodo delegation walking up the stairs. 

A new dawn, Regis had murmured in one of his more emotionally wrecked moments. There would be changes, where his father had hesitated, Regis would surge forward, would demand. Would reshape the very fabric of the kingdom they called home.

He was unsure what the next few years would look like, only that he was sure he would be at his friend’s side. He would miss Mors keenly – the man had given him a chance when nobody else would, had seen in the young recruit something worthy of training and honing.

But Regis had only ever seen him as himself, a friend and adviser. 

“Don’t look so solem, you may give credence to rumor.” Ardyn teased gently, slipping a hand through his arm as Regis fell back.

“Which rumor?” He asked, puzzled.

“Why, that you were in love with the king of course.” Ardyn gave him a cheeky smile. “That is one of my favorite – the other being that you are clearly his halfblooded son that he kept close by your appointment. I think it all narrows to nepotism in the end.” The hand squeezed gently, his voice a whisper as they followed Regis into the chapel. “Sylva looks lovely, do you not think so?”

“Odd to wear white to a funeral. But I cannot say, I’ve worn black to a birth.” He found the queen sitting in a place of honor, her son held squirming in the arms of his nurse. He was curious about the babe, and knew that Alessa – placed with Wesk a few spaces back – was also fascinated by the idea that she might have a brother. He assumed despite the royal apartment that would be granted due to her station, it would be his home she came in. 

Ardyn chuckled softly, earning him a stern look from one of the council members. “Bah, so solemn, every one of them. Death is not an end, merely a celebration of life. We should aggrandize our king, not weep that he walks with the gods.” 

“’Walks with the gods?’” He asked, blinking.

“As do all sons and daughters of the Caelum line. They are as we are.” There was a soft warming pressure of Ardyn against his side vanished, the man heading for the royal box and seating himself rather grandly next to Princess Astra, who did not look impressed with him at all. 

She rarely had. 

He fell into step behind Regis, looking up at the coffin that held their king.


	14. Chapter 14

"Why doesn't Sylva sit with him?" Ardyn asked from his position on the floor, playing with Ravus's toes.

The baby licked his foot, one fist shoved entirely in his mouth.

Alessa was perched on the floor next to him, dressing her doll with elaborate care.

"It is always the heir alone that faces the crystal for guidance." Sylva answered fondly, watching him.

"Really?' Ardyn looked briefly intrigued. "but only the Oracle can hear the voice of the crystal."

He looked up from his book, glancing at Sylva who seemed just as puzzled as he was, then to Wesk who should know if anyone did.

"The Oracle hears the voice of the gods, only a Caelum can hear the voice of the crystal."

Ardyn snorted. "Somnus did write quite the clever take, then. How strange. T'was always Aera who heard and listened to the crystal. I heard it only once, just after her death when it rejected me."

Sylva blinked, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and leaned forward. "Ardyn. Did you .... Did you believe that Aera died the day you did?"

Ardyn froze and carefully set up. "I held her dead in my arms. I felt her breath cease and her heart stop."

Sylva made a soft, unhappy noise in the back of her throat. "She states in her journal that it was you who died that day, and she woke some time later to Somnus informing her that you had been slain."

Ardyn was very, very still. "What became of her?"

"She remained the Oracle until her death, when the position passed to her niece. Her daughter...do you know?"

Ardyn made a low, unsteady noise in the back of his throat. "Tell me."

Cor moved, settling g beside the man on the floor, arm looking around his shoulder.

"Dad?" Alessa asked, frown lines pressing around her face. "dad?"

 

"Shush now, poppet." Ardyn murmured, lifting her into his lap.

Sylva looked even more distressed. "Somnus...Aera states that he was unable to have children after the betrayal. So he took Celeste as his own and renamed her. She was his only heir. The throne nearly crumbled as his loyalists fought. She was...she was a good queen."

"Daddy?" Alessa said it gently. "Daddy, you're crying."

"So I am, poppet. So I am." Ardyn's voice was small, pained.

Sylva got up, sitting next to them on the floor. "I thought you knew...Ardyn...I thought...surely."

"One final betrayal between us, eh?" Ardyn whispered.

Alessa stood on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as the Accursed creature they had been taught to fear burst into body shaking sobs.

*~*

He didn't remember getting here - here being a small stone room seemingly carved from the rock itself - but he was here, hands pressed to the stone wall, listening to a trickle of water somewhere within the room.

There was a thud and a meaty thump - his mind automatically catogrized it as a body falling to the stone.

Someone chuckled darkly and a light was struck.

It was only then that he realized the room was as dark as it was. He squinted against the sudden illumination, eyes watering a bit.

"I think this is a dim enough hole to forget him in." The person holding the light said. "Unwrap the chain and see that it is rooted deep within the stone."

"Are you certain that such a simple thing will hold him when naught else will?" The second figure asked, but obediently began to unwrap the bundle at his feet.

"His own darkness will fuel them. The monster within him. For they contain within them this power the six have granted me."

There was a man he didn't recognize leaning over the bundle of fabric on the ground, and another in armor unwrapping the chains. 

 

He stepped forward, but neither seemed to notice him. 

He watched them prepare the space, dazed and somewhat confused as to what he watched the armored figure set the chains into the wall.

It wasn’t until the figure was stripped that he recognized Ardyn on the floor, limp and almost boneless on the floor. He couldn’t even see his chest moving.

Together the two men chained him by the hands, clapping his feet together with a cruel set of bands around his ankles. A further stack of chains were left on the floor while they secured him, hanging limply in the air.

“And now.” The dark haired figured said, holding up his hand. The ring of the Lucii was on his finger. 

Purplish light connected them and Ardyn twitched to life with a scream of agony, entire body twisting to the limit of the chains. He could not go far, but his legs still had some freedom of movement. 

“I could get used to this power. How useful.” The smirk that twisted his lips was lined with sadism. “Wake up, brother.” 

The light vanished and Ardyn went limp, whimpering, little gasps for breath shuddering his chest. 

“No.” He said, soft, stepping forward.

“Look at me, or I will use it again.” The dark figure told him, still beaming.

Ardyn slowly managed to bring his head up, dazed and clearly in pain. “So-somnus? What…?”

“Welcome to your new home, brother. I wanted you to be awake for your interment.” ‘Somnus’ said with another laugh. 

Ardyn twisted, trying to free his hands, legs straining against the bonds around his ankles. “Why…?”

“This will be the last day anyone whispers you name as a savior, brother.” Somnus held up his hand. “The gods have granted me such power as to contain one as wretched at you.”

“This is a dream.” He tried to assert, hand passing through Somnus like smoke. “Ardyn? Ardyn, this is a dream. Wake up.”

“you killed…you…” Ardyn started to struggle anew, but Somnus leaned down, picking up one of the chains and hooked it through his skin – surely through his ribs. 

Ardyn screamed, Somnus laughed. 

“Your own dark power will form the bars of your prison, brother. The taint you absorbed? So long as it remains within you, these chains will leave let you free!” The manic glee in his eyes made his stomach lurch. 

“So-Somnus.” Ardyn’s gasping plea was apparent, even if he only got his tormentors name out. 

Smonus just laughed, picking up another chain to slide the hook almost tenderly into his brother’s skin. “In the end the gods chose me, and you…well. You will simply be forgotten, brother. A mote of evil in the pages of history.”

“Somnus.” Ardyn’s voice was a sob, now, begging. Begging for mercy the crazed figure at his feet could not show.

“The best part is? The best part is that all who revered you as their savior damned you with their pleas, and you answered them! You trapped yourself.”

“Ardyn!” He called.

But if Ardyn could hear him in this dream, the man showed no sign of it. 

Somnus wrapped gentle fingers around his neck. “I control everything about you.”

The purple light returned, Ardyn’s screams echoing back around the tiny room. 

“ARDYN!” 

“Cor?” The whisper was soft, the cave vanishing to be replaced with the softer darkness of his bedroom. Ardyn leaning over him with a puzzled look. 

He sat up, looping arms around the man and clinging to him.

“Oh?” Ardyn’s voice was softly fond, but the arms around him were solid. “What is this? A nightmare?”

He drew a shuddering breath, head tucked against his shoulder. “I thought it was yours.”

“Indeed? What is you dreamed?” Ardyn brushed fingers over his cheek. “Tears? It must have been bad. I cannot die, you know. Something of a fault, I suppose.”

He shook his head. “I saw…Somnus and…Gilgamesh, I presume, though they were never named.”

The gentleness faded a little bit. “Ah. I imagine they were quite terrible to me, then? You’re trembling.”

His hand settled on his breastbone, pressing against the fabric and the unmarked skin beneath. “He used the ring.”

Ardyn wrinkled his nose. “I have never found myself able to trust it, even now that it sits on Regis’ finger. I have no idea what price – save my banishment – Somnus paid for it. But with its power…I doubt very much that payment was pleasurable for any party involved. I think he was quite mad.”

“Stop making jokes, damn you.” He whispered. 

Ardyn looked instantly contrite. “I am sorry, Cor. I lived through it. If it was anything like what happened. I have found myself….rather maudlin of late. It is unfair to you.” Lips pressed against his own, though Ardyn pressed the kiss no further. “There now, Cor. I am here and quite well.” 

He shuddered, fingers pressing against his chest.

Ardyn paused for a moment, head canted to the side like a curious Chocobo. “Would you like to see? There are no scars, I am not so lucky as to have a mark to mourn.”

His hands twisted in the fabric of the robe the man wore. “I know. I’ve seen it before.”

Ardyn touched the back of his hand gently. “You have done me more good than you realize, my lion. Rest. I swear to you I shall not return to that place, not even if the gods should bid me.”

He nodded, leaning forward, resting his aching body against the man. Letting the steady thunder of Ardyn’s heart soothe him. 

*~*


	15. Chapter 15

Sylva stayed only a week after the coronation and funeral. Only a week in which she seemed intent on giving Ardyn as much of herself as she could manage, pouring power into giving him solace.

It was too bad, really, that she could not stay. He liked her presence, she gave Ardyn an outlet that he could not. One that was purely physical, yes, but there was another element to her presence that he found himself content with. She stayed no more in the royal apartments than she had when she first arrived, nor did her attendant or the babe. 

He liked the kid, too, even if Ravus was still too small to have much of a personality. 

 

Her official goodbyes had been said already, her ship waited only for her to board for it to depart. 

She walked towards him with a smile, extending her arms to pull him into a hug. “Cor, I need you to promise me something.”

He smiled, a bit amused, gladder than ever that he had no bloodline to answer to that could pull such pain in his eyes. “Anything, my lady.” 

She smiled in return, though it was sadder smile, softer and more concerned. "Cor, remember that in these days and weeks and years to come that so much depends upon you. There will be trials, there will be darkness, some shall snap and tempt you. Some will try to force things back as they were writ and others will try to drive things to further to chaos. You cannot let them move you, you must be the eye in the storm. So much rests on the hope that you represent, it could so easily be snatched away again. You must let no man conquer you; a Shield draws’ strength from their king, they can only be as strong as the king they serves and the king only so strong as they can endure.” Her eyes searched his face, voice a whisper that surely carried no further than they.   
"I am no one, Sylva." It was kind of them to give him purpose, but their calling to a higher power was not one he shared. Blessedly so, between the three he was certain there was more destiny than he could reasonably swallow. 

"And thus you are everything. You are a chance. You are our chance. I pray that you do not forget it." She lifted his chin, pressing her mouth over his. From that touch he felt her power spiral out within him, suffusing him in light and warmth.

She held him there until he had no breath left to spare, and pulled back only so much that he could breathe. "To give you strength for days to come."

"Why is it that you both use such methods to send power spinning through me?" He asked softly, sharing breath and feeling the gentle curve of her lips as she smiled.

"Because we love you so, Cor Leonis." She ran her fingers over his cheek. "You are hope. Please guard him."

"It is what I live for, Majesty." He told her gently, cupping her face. "I marvel at your faith in me."

"And I at your devotion. Remember." She smiled gently, then moved past him to farewell Ardyn.

Clarus caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up. He rolled his eyes in response, unimpressed.

Sylva drew Ardyn to his side, pulling their hands together, face sad. “I think it will be a long time before we three stand together again. Stand strong.” There was urgency in her voice, such deep concern that he glanced at Ardyn, mystified. 

“We will.” Ardyn lifted their hands, all three joined together, and pressed a courtly kiss to the back of her hands that trailed down his own knuckles. “Take our strength with you until we meet again.”

She smiled, including him in her warmth, and then was gone. 

A shiver stole over him, as though a shadow had passed between him and the warmth of the sun. 

 

*~* 

The bullet exploded through his shoulder, blood and bone fragments staggering him long before the pain surged through him.

He hit the ground, ears ringing, mouth open as he gagged on nothing.

Something else hit him, warmth flooding through him, washing away the pain and the stomach churning nausea.

There was still blood on the ground around him, fragments scattering around as he got up, hands on his sword.

Ardyn was standing in front of him, shimmering energy surrounding them.

"Sniper." The man informed him. Almost cheerful. Almost deceptively cheerful, except for the edge.

He worked his jaw to banish the last of the ringing. "Where?"

Ardyn lifted a hand, indicating a roof top.

He drew his sword, one hand settling on Ardyn's shoulder. "Take me."

The lurching sideways feel of Ardyn's magic barely touched the nausea of a near death experience. The body felt the blood loss even as the magic repaired it.

He slammed into the attempted assassin as the man moved to fleet, pinning him to the ground. "You got me. Fair is fair."

The man made a noise, attempting briefly to struggle before he gave up and yielded his bladder in the process. 

Ardyn was nearly snapping with energy as he walked closer, shadows shifting on his face as he struggled with the demons. "I should not touch him. He would likely not survive the experience."

 

"We can use the stairs." He dragged the man to his feet. "can you handle the gun?"

"...he very nearly took your head off." Ardyn said, mild.

He picked up the weapon and tossed it into the Armiger. "You could just say no."

"But I so like the face you make when you reconsider your questions." Ardyn swept his gaze over the city.

The man, whimpering and moaning, had dragged to his feet and half marched to the doorway to the stairs. "Allies?"

"Fled as soon as we came up here. Spotters or coconspirators I do not know." Ardyn answered. 

"Mark their faces we will find them later." He ordered.

Ardyn hmmed softly in response.

*~*

“Well.” Regis said slowly, looking at the report. “What do we think?”

 

Ardyn leaned back in his chair, scowling. “That the council will likely be displeased should I leave the head of their would-be-assassin in their chambers. But that I cannot properly be shocked that they would attempt it.” 

The council might not like it, but Ardyn had the ear of the king now. Ardyn could turn Regis to and from many paths.

He cut a path of his own through formerly immobile red tape and committee, and Regis let him. 

They had known this was likely to come. Sylva’s leaving had left Ardyn with a sorrow that he could not shake – one that stretched him and made him gaunt, stubble making shadows where once he had been bright. 

Sylva’s leaving, and Sylva’s confession as to what had become of the child. 

“Were they aiming for you?” He wondered, watching Regis. 

Regis sighed. “Could be either, really. Not all welcomed your appointment, Marshal.”

The title still felt strange, a little bit burdensome, though he had accepted it without complaint. They four were the most powerful men in Lucis.

Quite some way to come for a boy who had barely enough gil to feed himself. 

“Then they will likely aim for Clarus next, lest his noble blood affords him some protection from their machinations.” Ardyn scowled further. “Perhaps I shall send them all a gift.” 

“Ardyn, don’t stir the pot more than it already churns.” Regis warned. “I know you are angry – I am as well. But we must be cautious. While we may ‘know’ that it was them who hired the man and set him on that building, till we find proof for charges of treason we cannot move against them.”

 

The accursed tilted his head back with a sigh. “I admire this new way of things, Regis. Truly. But some part of me lingers fondly in the time where one could settle an offence at the edge of a blade.”

Clarus snorted. “I’ll drink to that. Maybe we need a break. A few days away from the city? That will set them off, but not in a way they could react with malice to.”

 

“Save they react with malice to the rising of the tide.” Ardyn sniped. “I could use some time. A little, at least. I feel as though I have swallowed a great darkness and it shall not let me sleep.”

He shrugged when Clarus looked at him.

Regis looked pained, but nodded his head in acquiesces. “Very well. A vacation then? I’ll clear my schedule.”


	16. Chapter 16

He was back in the darkness, palms pressed against damn walls, coldness seeping into him.

His mouth was so dry he considered for a moment the idea of pressing his mouth to those damp walls, to scrape tongue and face just to ease the dryness.

Someone whimpered in the dark and he staggered forward, seeking blindly with his hands until he found warm flesh that moved softly every time a breath was taken.

Ardyn. He pressed his cheek to the skin, listening to the dull, slow thud of his heart. Finding the cruel chains with fingers. He did not tug on them, knowing that they twisted cruelly beneath skin and bone. 

There was a distance grinding sound and then...footsteps. He made no effort to move from Ardyn's side. The last time they had not seen him, and he doubted this time would be different. The warm, clammy skin beneath his skin might not heed his presence, but he needed that closeness. It was succor, the magic writhing beneath his skin. It was familiar, an anchor within his chest.

A light burned his eyes and he squeezed them shut until the kaleidoscope of colors faded some from his view.

"Awaken." A voice said beyond the light, and Ardyn tensed beneath him, making a rattling sound in his chest as he drew a deep breath.

Confused Hazel stared down at him, studying his features.

"Is this a dream again?"Ardyn murmured, throat raspy from disuse.

"Perhaps." He answered, considering. "But whose?"

A ghost of humor appeared before Ardyn lifted his head, staring past him at the light. "Somnus?"

"One should kneel before the king, brother." Somnus said, voice cool.

"When shall he be arriving?" Ardyn returned.

He turned to watch Somnus twist in rage, hand lifting with the ring to punish him.

Ardyn screamed and twisted beneath him, low moans and whimpers escaping him when the ring released.

Somnus was glaring at it, clearly displeased.

"Still...leaning it I see?" Ardyn rasped.

He curled a hand against his hip, trying to offer comfort. 

"Must you continue your japes when I stand above you?" Somnus demanded, circling around the tiny cell.

"What else is there left to me?" Ardyn murmured. 

"Release your magic." Somnus ordered curtly. "The Oracle says you have cursed me."

"You killed her." Ardyn whispered, looking up at his hands. "Tis no curse of mine, brother. Only one of the spirit."

Somnus snarled. "Even a monster should obey his king."

"Even a monster ..." Ardyn echoed softly, head bobbing forward to rest against his chest.

Somnus grabbed him, jerking him forward to the limit of the chains. 

Ardyn moaned in pain.

"There is a prophecy, brother." Somnus hissed. "The gods have seen fit to offer me a method to destroy you. When you again walk free, a child will be born that can destroy you. Shall I free you now?"

"Gods willing." Ardyn whispered. "I shall be able to save that innocent child."

Somnus snarled, releasing him and slamming him back against the chains. "You are forgotten, brother. I have put to the sword and the flame all who speak well of you. Every person you have saved? They are dead now! Dead!"

"The six bless them and Grant them passage." Ardyn murmured in return. "Are those grey hairs on your head, Somnus?"

With a snarl the king raised his hand, purple magic pulsing around him.

"Ardyn." He whispered, voice soft but sure. "Ardyn. I need you."

For a moment he thought the man looked at him, purple eyes fixing on him as a coldness he did not understand settled against his back. 

"Wake." A soft, feminine voice told him. "Wake."

He opened his eyes with a gasp, staring up into Ardyn’s face.

“That dream again?” Ardyn asked, gentle. “You said my name.”

He shook his head. “No. You weren’t…?”

Ardyn looked for a moment concerned. “No. It is not a dream you have while I sleep. What was it?”

“Somnus came back to….”

Ardyn looked away. “Well. We are both fine now. Aren’t we? Best to put us behind us.”

He curled his hand in the fabric of the shirt Ardyn had worn to bed. “You saw me. In the dream. You asked….”

“I hallucinated a great deal, locked in the darkness with nothing to do.” Ardyn cut in. “I dreamed of Aera for so long I thought I was with her. Do not read too much into that.”

He closed his mouth, tugging on Ardyn’s sleeve. The hotel in Galahad was nice, but it lacked the familiarity of his room. Everything smelled artificial and newly cleaned. 

Ardyn turned back towards him with a soft sigh, cradling his chin. “I do not like to think of it. I wish you did not dream of it.”

“But I do. And you saw me. I do not know if you were comforted in seeing but…I hope that you were.”

Ardyn smiled faintly. “Any touch at that point would have been welcome. Somnus only hurt me, but a part of me craved it, locked so far away from everyone.” Fingers brushed gently over his chin. “If I had seen you, I would have welcomed the relief. The contact of another person.” 

He nodded. “It was…what he did was terribly unfair.”

Ardyn sighed softly, leaning to nestle against his shoulder. “I am here now, and this is where I mean to remain, Cor.”

Wordless, he touched the back of Ardyn’s head, drawing strength from the touch between them.

Who had it been that had bid him to wake? And why were they in his dream?

Why this time had Ardyn – and only Ardyn, Somnus would have reacted to his presence – been able to see him?

He had more questions than ever, even with the man in question curled safe and content against his side. 

What were the gods planning for Ardyn? And where did he fit, amid those plans?


	17. Chapter 17

“If you don’t mind me saying, Cor, you look like shit.” Swann said brightly from behind the bar. 

He grunted in response. “I feel like shit.”

Regis must have slept better last night if she was this cheerful, her body language looked relaxed and comfortable. A fling, only, but they seemed to be enjoying each other. She worked in the bar downstairs from the rooms they were renting and seemed to have decided she needed to take care of them. 

Wes even liked her, weird as that seemed. He had expected the advisor to advise against a lover for the newly crowned king. But the light was back in Regis eyes, and they had Ms. Altius to thank for that. 

She looked sympathy. “Coffee or something stronger?” 

“Coffee with something stronger? And maybe some breakfast.” He sat on one of the bar stools. “How is he?”

“Good. Showering. Loss hits some people different, you know?” The burr of her voice was soothing as she worked around the bar kitchen, rattling things around. “Ya’ll been through some stuff, I know that. Even if you’re playing secrets.” 

“Sorry, Swann. I wish we could tell you.” He told her gently, accepting the steaming cup of coffee she presented him with.

“You boys are so sweet. Don’t worry your head about it. I know you and Regis have a reason for it. That’s all I need to know.” She grinned. “How did Ardyn sleep last night? If you’re looking haggard, should I make more?”

He snorted. “Ardyn slept fine, the nightmares were mine.” 

She nodded, flipping hotcakes on the stove. “Anything you can talk about?”

He considered the cup of coffee. “Nothing I can explain.”

“Cause it’s a secret or cause you don’t understand?” Swann asked, sliding a plate in front of him and leaning on the bar.

“I don’t understand it. They’re almost like….Visions of someone else’s memories?” He poked at the food, turning it around in the back of his head. “And last night was weirder than usual, because I feel like I was seen.”

Swann considered that tidbit of information, resting her chin on her hand. “You talk to the person whose memories you think they are?”

He nodded.

“And they don’t remember you?” 

He shook his head, lifting a bite of the fluffy cakes to his mouth and chewing on it. 

Swann went back to the stove, starting more cakes.

He ate and she worked, both of them mulling over what he had told her. He liked the woman, she was stable. A solid person who didn’t take shit from Clarus, or let Ardyn get away with only eating sugar, and would tell Regis when he was being too demure and needed to speak up. Wes even complimented her cooking. 

It couldn’t last, but he did like her. He liked the way Regis was with her. Common bar waitress that she was. The reality of the fact that Regis was already practically engaged even if nobody had asked or answered was a hard one. He should have had more time. 

“I think you should talk to Gamze.” Swann offered. “She lives down the cove a bit. A really old woman, nobody knows how old. She knows things, lots of times. When ships are going to go down, when they’ll come back safe. She can even do blessings.” 

“Blessings?” He questioned, puzzled.

Swann nodded. “She blesses the ships before they go, and we’ve the lowest rate of loss for any fleet on the island. People get her to bless their babies too. Tide Mother’s blessing is important around here, with the sea so close.” 

“I thought the alter was in Altissia?” He asked, puzzled. 

She rolled her eyes. “Bah. You’d think people would know, anyway. The sea is everywhere, Cor. Touches every part of our world, the Tide Mother’s blessing can be asked for wherever the water touches the shore.” 

He blinked, but smiled a bit fondly. 

“Don’t you take that look. Talk to Gamze. It’s not just country superstition.” Swann pointed her spatula at him. “Or I won’t make you coffee tomorrow.”

“I’ll go, I’ll go. Give me better directions than down the cove and I’ll go.” He held up his hands in surrender. 

“Where are you sending him?” Regis asked from the door, looking well rested, hair still wet from the shower.

“Good morning, hun.” Swann said, smiling at him. “Sending him to talk to someone about his nightmares. I think she can help.”

“Ah.” Regis gave him a questioning look.

He shrugged in response. 

“Come eat.” Swann ordered, pointing at the chair. “Do I need to go wake the others up? Or will they be down?”

“Down before you know it.” Regis said, smiling at her. “Thank you, Swann.” 

~*~

The shack didn’t inspire much confidence. It was made mostly of driftwood, lashed together with rope to cover the front of a cave. 

It also appeared to be deserted as he walked up. 

The door was really more of a curtain, so he knocked carefully on the wood next to it.

The curtain whisked open and an old, half folded woman peered out at him. “Leonis.”

He blinked and took a half step back. “Yes?”

“Hm. Figured I’d be seeing you before long. Come in.” Her voice was low, croaking almost like a frog in her throat. “Sit. I’ll make you tea.”

“There is no need to bother.” He said, looking around the room a bit desperately. The walls did nothing to stop the wind, and the small stove and teapot seemed…odd.

The entire place was odd. Like stepping into another world. 

“Oh, there will be a need.” The old woman croaked, feeding the stove. “Sit down. I don’t like you towering above me.”

He sat on one of the stools, staring at the woman and at the tiny house. Bundles and wraps of herbs, sea grass, and driftwood hung above him, shifting softly in the wind that came through the gaps. 

“So.” The old woman said. “You’ve been having dreams.”

It wasn’t a question, he dropped his chin to look at her. “Excuse me?”

She made a rude gesture. “Dreams. Don’t change the subject. Dreams you shouldn’t be having. Glimpses of the past, only you were never there to see them.” She poured hot water into two chipped cups, adding something from a small canister. “And you want to know why.”

“Yes.” He said slowly, staring at her. “What are you?”

“Neither important nor relevant.” The old woman scolded, walking back to the table with the mugs. “Drink this.”

He stared into the liquid, then back at the woman. “What is it?”

“Tea. As I said. Now drink it.”

He lifted the mug to his lips and took a slow sip of it, letting the liquid hit the back of his throat. He gagged a bit on the taste, salt burning as he swallowed. But he forced himself to finish it, setting the mug back down on the table and feeling as though he might be ill.

“They’re screaming.” The old woman told him. “Can’t you hear them?” 

His stomach lurched, the room spun, and he could feel his eyes rolling back into his head.

Screams. Yes. He could hear them. 

He stood in a sterile white room, staring down at a girl. She was small, hands clapped over her ears and eyes squinting shut to try to block out the noise.

Screaming, roaring, pain. He could feel the pain. 

He staggered, going to a knee, staring into the eyes of a child. 

She stared at him, through him, and into the place beyond him, flames leaking from her fingers until her hair was a small inferno that did not burn.

He reached for her, but his hand went through, and he was falling, falling, deep into the chamber beneath.

The Infernian lay on a bed of ice, one arm missing. He dreamed, he twitched, he raged. But the ice held him captive, the ice was a wall around him.

Someone else watched, calculating the next part they should sheer away as the seething consciousness listened, and knew, and raged against the folly of man. 

“Listen.” A voice said softly behind him, gently feminine. “Listen.” 

He moaned, and staggered, one hand falling to the ice. 

He saw soldiers marching side by side, ready to fight and kill, except they had the faces of children. He saw the girl leaning over, one hand braced against a tree, black armor sending off sparks. He saw the world in ruin, darkness never lifting. He saw a child curled up at the foot of a statue, fingers pressing into the stone as the towering figure came to life. 

He saw war, he saw death. He saw an ending of the world, brought about by the folly of man. 

And then he was back in the chair in the sea hut, the herbs swirling in the air above him. He felt like he should be retching, but he couldn’t move.

“They call to you.” The old woman said. “Till that calling is answered, you will dream.” 

“What…?” 

“What is, what was, what might yet be.” The old woman told him, hands folded on her lap, eyes burning with power. 

“Who are you?” He asked, voice rough, terror caught somewhere in his bones. He had faced down the Blade Master with less fear in his heart, he had faced down armies that could have easily destroyed him. 

“Only a messenger.” The woman told him gently, lifting her head. The stoop to her back had vanished. “The world moves closer to destruction. We watch, we wonder, we know.” 

He drew a shuddering breath. “What should I do?”

“What will the man do?” The old woman echoed. “What will the man become? We can not know that yet. Go.”

He staggered to his feet, stomach lurching around what she had given him.

A storm had sprung up outside, rain lashing at him as he walked out of the hut, lightening roiling in the clouds above.

But he went.


	18. Chapter 18

The storm was violent and the beach seemed longer that he remembered. But then with how the wind and rain lashed at him he couldn't be sure that he was judging it correctly. The waves that slammed against him forced him further inland, choking him with salt thick water and covering him with sand and storm debris.  
He staggered into a cave, only then realizing how loud the storm had become until it was beating down against something else, not him.

Cor was shivering, whatever protection his clothes had provided rendered useless by the soggy weight of them against his skin now.

His breath fogged the cave, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, arms wrapped around himself in a futile effort to warm his body.

Chunks of hail rolled out of his clothes with every move, and his ears still rushed with the tide that had nearly overwhelmed him.

He took a few more steps into the cave, startling a bit when a vent of heat struck him from further in the cave.

It only took a moment - blowing into his cupped hands - to decide that whatever waited for him in the cave was a less sure death than hypothermia.

There was a set of rough steps hewn into the stone, guiding him down until he had entirely lost track of where he was going. Steam billowed from his clothes as a warm, dry wind buffeted him from deeper in, the light gradually increasing around him.

He brushed careful fingers against the wall, testing the temperature. He had a sudden concern of being coked like a frog in a slowly warming pot. But the walls were cool to the touch - cool, not cold or wet like he would expect with the weather outside. He had some sense that a cave this close to the ocean should be cold and possibly filled with water.

Fuck. Magic. Just what he needed, more magic. Magic had already wrecked his morning.

He drew a deep breath, looking back up the stairs. But a gradual turn that he hadn't noticed while descending meant he could only see a few feet behind him.

Fuck. 

He put his hand on the stone, using it as a guide as he walked further and further into the depths of the unnaturally warm cave.

The staircase was thankfully straight, not twisting or turning or branching off to further lose him in the rocks. The stone changed color from the porce Black Rock to a pale, gold veined expance of what he thought might be marble - he was no geologist - that was smooth under his hand.

There was a landing, abruptly, he swore it hadn't been there when he was looking forward, but he was standing on it, looking at three arches that split the path.

One was same black stone he had found in most of Galahd's, the other two were ... different. Only one of the gold veined stone, the other seemed to be hewn from earth itself, little bits crumbling even as he watched.

He sat on the landing, adjusting his sword carefully as he watched the openings. Down the dark rock path he thought he could hear the ocean, smell the sea in the air. He would guess that way would lead to the expected sea cave. 

The other two...he wasn't sure. The sword was warm under his fingers, almost pulsing. He ran his hand over it, glad of the warmth. The wind was still here, and the stone was leaching what warmth he had gleaned from it.

At least it had dried his clothes.

A spark of magic, Regis had said. Ardyn had objected, but only seemed to imply that there was more than a spark. 

He drew it, laying it across his knees and studying it. Was it the sort of magic that could help him?

"Alright. Which way to you think I should go?" 

Nothing.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the part of himself he latched onto when he needed to do magic, using the sword as he would a flask.

The rush of energy set him back, and he thought for a moment it was going to eat him. The sword was burning up like an ill cast fire spell, worked too dangerously close to fuel.

All the breath rushed out of him, briefly fogging the strange metal it was made of.

Before each door stood a man. None of them faces him.

One went down the black stone path and vanished from view. The next went down the crumbling path and he saw it encounter something wild and indistinct. The last to the gold path, he saw it lift something from a brazier on the wall and slowly grow brighter and brighter until it hurt to look at.

He broke the vision, looking at the floor with a shudder. "One gets me out, one gets me trouble and the last is more mystery..." He murmured. "Have you met me, sword?"

The sword was quiet, but still warm in his hands.

He sighed deeply, looking behind him. Predictably, there was a gold flecked wall a few places away. There was no going back.

He put the sword back in his sheath at his side and headed for the gold arch as confidently as he could manage.

His shoulders still tightened in anticipation as he stepped through, a gust of wind at his back confirming his worst fear when he turned.

The entrance had sealed.

He touched the marble curiously. "No turning back once the choice is made? Are you going to follow me all the way there?"

Wherever 'there' was, in the end.

The marble offered no answer, still cool to the touch but no colder than it had been. 

He turned, hand on the floor and strode slowly forward, examining the wall and ceiling as he did so. Set into the wall was a candle in a holder, the flame seeming to produce no heat and consume no wax.

He lifted it carefully, listening. But no sound came to warn him against it.

The wall was again a pace behind him.

He kept going, clutching the candle tightly in his hand. Down another set of stairs and through several long hallways that did not twist or turn, ever the wall blocking his way back until he came to a wooden door set into a stone frame.

He turned to look at the wall, raising an eyebrow. 

Fine..so this was where he was meant to go.

He turned the knob and slowly stepped inside. 

 

It was a library of all things, books and scrolls piled on the walls. Stone tablets and heavy tapestries piled on heavy tables. There were lights set into the wall that made his candle seem dim and pointless.

"Card, please." A little voice said imperiously near his feet.

He looked down, blinking at the....Moogle? Pompom bobbing, black eyes squinted at him.

He had to be hallucinating.

The moogle prodded his knee. "Card."

"Uh. What?" He started at the little thing, sure that Alessa had one just like it among her stuffed animal collection. Right next to the Morbol that Ardyn insisted would give her good dreams.

"Your library card, sir." The moogle insisted with an irritated tone.

He reached into his pocket, confused and a bit alarmed and got it out.

The moogle snatched it out of his hands, studying it intently. "Hm. Yes. Out of my district but I suppose we can make an exception. You would be looking for texts on ancient Solhiem, I assume? You will find them in ancient civilizations, starting with the number 36909. They are of course filed by date of cataclysm not by date of founding. Please remember that." The little moogle sniffed and walked away. "Put gloves on, those texts are ancient."

"I-what?" 

"I said put gloves on. And wipe your feet! Two thousand years old and they think they have standing." The moogle kept muttering to itself as it walked away.

Within moments, the strange creature had vanished amid the massive piles of seemingly uncatalogued books. He looked at the stack closest him – it was a stack of Cosmology books, labeled with a disdainful “fiction” tag and seemingly forgotten. 

For lack of anything better to do, he started wandering the strange library, pacing between the shelves.

Some of the books hurt his head to look at - a thick book labeled "Summoners" risked his eyesight and he had to sink into one of the chairs scattered through the shelves to gather himself before moving on. It had been sandwiched between what seemed to be a book about magic and another about cooking. Seemingly harmless. Seemingly. He still stared, but by the time he realized he was in the indicated section, his head seemed to be in a constant state of low grade agony.

He could read the titles on these books, but something made him hold back from touching the well-oiled spines. A tapestry hung down one of the isles, and he paused for a long time to study it. The weave reminded him of his own clothes, machine like, and depicted a man and woman cavorting near a gate, the man half in shadows and the woman a strange mix of flesh and bare bones.

He had to drag himself away from that. Something about it had hooked him in the chest and demanded notice.

There were books on warfare, on economics, literature and smithing. Side by side arranged only by the number on their spines. Every topic he could conceivably think of and a few he could not have dreamed of – what was ‘materia’ and why was liquid wells of it dangerous? The book was there, he could find out if he wished. There were oft repeats as he went further and further back in the section. Had that held true in the other areas? He hadn’t noticed, had been paying too much attention to the throbbing pain that trying to read the spines 

He had no idea what he was meant to be looking for. What book he was supposed to look for. 

Sometimes he found himself squinting at a blurry title until it resoled itself into words he could read.

He reached the end of the isle - blank stone unmarked save for a tracery of gold lettering. Maybe the wall of a temple? He almost touched it, but held back at the last moment, sinking to the floor instead. He placed the candle carefully between his feet, resting his forehead briefly on his knees. 

He was exhausted. The shelves were empty, not dusty. There was not a speck of dust in the whole place. But empty.

Except one book, a slim volume tucked on the very bottom of the shelf in the furthest corner. He hadn’t noticed it from a standing position, but now that he had dropped his gaze there it was. Divinity: The Goddess' Lesser Children. 

He reached for it, brushing finger tips over the faded gold lettering. There was no author, and but a single number on its spine. 

"Yes. That will do." 

He jumped, falling back against the shelf with a startled cry.

The moogle was back, staring at him with an unblinking gaze - it extended its hand out to the book, which floated between them, one paw caressing the cover - lifting the mark from the ancient material. 

He stared between the mark, the cover, and the moogle. 

The moogle smiled and stepped forward, the chubby form melting away from it and revealing a winged beast that towered easily above him, one hand engulfing his arm.

There was a faint tingling sensation, the brush of wind against his face, and a very familiar heavy feeling that told him the beast had just cast sleep on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter got away from me, and there was a lot of shouting at the friends I share working bits with. Cor seemed stuck for awhile on "Why is there a moogle in the fucking library." A few internal jokes that I hope you all enjoy, and some references to earlier FF games to be had.


	19. Chapter 19

He woke with a mouthful of sand, damp and with someone poking him with a stick.

 

"Nyx, I'll tell mother." A female voice warned.

 

"I think he's dead." A younger voice answered, clearly fascinated. "D'you think he drowned?"

 

"Nyx." The female voice warned again.

 

He groaned and tried to shift enough to push the stick away, trying to open his eyes - crusty with dried salt. He probably looked dead, for all that the kid was irritating him.

 

There was some shrieking around him.

 

"Lib, go get mama." 'Nyx' ordered. "He's only half drowned."

 

Little shit. He managed to get his arm under him and push up slightly before the woman got there, led by a boy who looked...he wasn't sure. He was bad at guessing ages on kids.

 

The woman looked alarmed, kneeling down and with deft fingers clearing sand from his mouth and nose. "Were you on a boat?"

 

He shook his head. "Cave?"

 

There was a gasp from the kids, who all looked suitably impressed.

 

"Well they only half drowned you." She said practically.

 

He grumbled a bit, but let her tend him. "Was in the Cove."

 

She tilted her head. "Well, you're on the other side of the island now. We'll have to call and let them know where you've gotten to. Until then, we need to get you dry. Soggy clothes will cause sickness. Can you stand?"

 

It took some doing - she was smaller than he was, and the kids were well, kids - but they finally got him to his feet and moving in the same general direction of her place, with the kids scattering around them. Two little boys and a girl, all of whom seemed entirely wild, braids bouncing on their backs of their necks strewn with colorful beads.

 

"Cor." He said, as she eased him down into a chair.

 

"I'm Magda, the boys are Libertus and Nyx, and the girl is Sarah. I only claim Nyx and Sarah, but Lib practically lives here too." She smiled, and helped him take his boots and clothes off.

 

He paused as he shucked the outer layers, staring at the mark - inked black and solid on his arm.

 

Magda stared at it took, looking between him and it. "So. You passed their test."

 

"It didn't stop the bastard from half drowning me." He muttered, accepting the blanket she had over her arm.

 

She laughed, shaking her head. "The gods are fickle in Galahd." She nudged him into a chair by the fire, making him feel like an old man needing to bake his bones.

 

"Now, where were you staying?"

 

"Bar in the cove. Got a phone, I think." The fire was nice, he decided, head bobbing a bit.

 

"Alright. I'll give them a call." 

 

*~*  
  
By the time Ardyn and the others arrived, he felt a little more human again, though he was still dressed only in a blanket and his underthings.

 

Ardyn darted forward, not bothering to conceal the skipped steps as anything but warping. The boys made appreciative noises in response, clearly overawed.

 

He braced himself, expecting an impact, but Ardyn cradled him almost gently. “Must you always be so impulsive?”

 

He grunted against Ardyn’s chest, trying not to lean too much into the embrace. “It’s pretty much my last name.”

 

“We were worried when the storm came, and more when you were gone overnight.” Hands touched his hair, smoothing down the back of his neck. “And really, I am quite cross with you.”

 

“Huh?” He blinked, having been lulled back into drowsing against Ardyn’s chest.

 

Ardyn brushed back the blankets, indicating the tattoo. “I thought we would get a matched set, but here you are with your first tattoo.”

 

His cheeks heated, and he leaned back, shoving ineffectively against the menace. “It’s not like I agreed to anything.”

 

Ardyn’s eyes were practically sparkling with humor. “Well, clearly you did something correctly.”

 

“There was a moogle in a fucking library!” He protested.

 

Ardyn’s humor only deepened. “Are you sure it was _in_ the library?”

 

He stared at the man, mouth gaping, senseless sputtering the only thing he was capable of for a moment. “Well I most certainly was!”

 

“Were you?” Ardyn chuckled.

 

“What do you know?” He demanded.

 

“Oh nothing entirely precisely. However, I have some guesses. You were being tested.” Ardyn returned to stroking his hair and neck, soothing him – or trying to, his nerves were rattled and he was annoyed, which made it hard to lull him.

 

“By what and why?” He growled, trying to get up.

 

“Oh, I would guess with that level of power a messenger of some sort. A holy guardian, by the mark on your skin.” Hands pressed solidly down on his shoulders, keeping him from rising and then fingers caressed down his arm, over the mark. “Best not to overthink it. As to why.” Ardyn lifted his chin gently.

 

He darted his gaze to the kids, who were watching the entire exchange with rapt attention. “Ardyn.”

 

“Shoot.” Ardyn muttered, following his gaze. “Shoo.”

 

The boys seemed on the verge of protesting, but the girl grabbed them both and dragged them out of the room.

 

Ardyn cradled his chin, studying him with weary eyes for a moment, an odd cloak of power of his shoulders. “Well, silly man, I would think that they are testing you because of me. That is where this all started, is it not?”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “How do I make them stop?”

 

“I can’t imagine you being willing to do the sorts of things that would require.” Ardyn leaned down, kissing him gently, power probing through him.

 

He jerked back. “I’m not sick or hurt.”

 

Ardyn pouted. “Best to be sure, my dear. You were gone an entire day, and half drowned twice. That is almost an entire drowning.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re being dramatic. I was just wet.”

 

“Let me be certain of that, Cor. I would not be able to bear it if something were to happen to you at this juncture. At least not something I could prevent.” Hands cupped his face again, and Ardyn’s mouth settled on his once more.

 

He sighed through his nose, generally put out by the fussing, but allowed him to scan until he was satisfied.


	20. Chapter 20

He was compressed, smashed down and held too tightly, he fought. But it was futile. He was captured, he was done for, and there was nothing to be done.

He sat up in the bed with a cry of pain, hands cradling his head, breath coming in panicked gasps that failed to properly fill his lungs. It made him dizzy. It made the problem worse. 

“Easy.” Hands closed around his gently – not restrictive, but present. 

It took him another long while of breathing and listening to the soft near voice to actually recognize that Ardyn was kneeling next to him on the bed – the bed they shared, in the apartment he paid for because he was still fighting Regis on the appointment of an estate. 

“Easy. Take another deep breath, hold it. There. Ease it out, slowly.” Ardyn’s voice was gentle, fingers stroking from his forehead to the back of his neck. 

Like a key unlocking a door he realized he had forgotten who he was for a moment, and that thought so disturbed him that it spread an uneasy vileness through him. “Ardyn?”

“Back with me, my dear?” There was a certain edge to the normally jovial tone. “I must say, I prefer to be the one waking you with bad dreams and not the one being woken. What was it this time?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t…” How to explain a complete loss of self? Of location? Of anything around him? “I was trapped. Something…squeezing, smothering me. Until I gave up.”

“Not a vision this time?” Ardyn seemed worried, now, though he was trying to hide it. 

“If there was anything to see, I was entrapped in such blackness that I couldn’t see it.” Cor – that was his name. His name was Cor Leonis, he was a dear friend to the king, one of the youngest royal guards in the history of Lucis, and the attendant to the immortal prince Ardyn. It was Ardyn who sat next to him on the bed. It was his bed. His room. His friend next to him, speaking in the same low tone one would use on a child – one that Ardyn did use on a child, Alessa. There was a child in his home, one he doted on fondly. She was just a room away.

There was a strangeness to pressing further into his memories, uncovering things as though for the first time. 

“I do not like this.” Ardyn said softly, fingers trailing down his neck.

“Try living it.” He muttered darkly. 

There was a lengthy pause. “Cor?” 

“Hm?” 

Ardyn shifted, turning on the light, cradling his chin. 

He squinted a bit at the light, making an unhappy sound. 

“Can you hear me?” Ardyn asked gently. 

“Of course I can.” He was irritated, glancing away.

“Are you sure?” Ardyn asked, pushing gently. He could almost feel the concern radiating off of him.

“Yes. I can hear you. My hearing was not damaged by my blasted nightmare.”

Ardyn looked intensely thoughtful. “You don’t realize you’re doing it, do you?”

“Doing what? I am too unsettled for riddles, Ardyn.” 

Ardyn sighed, shaking his head. 

Some detail crept in, something his brain had been nagging at. Ardyn had not been moving his lips at all. “You weren’t speaking, were you?”

“No. I wasn’t.” Ardyn looked ever more concerned. “You were reading the thoughts I focused on, though…”

He groaned, burrowing his face into his hands. “I don’t need to add hearing thoughts on the lists of things happening to me, Ardyn.”

“I will try to keep it down to a dull roar, darling.” Ardyn’s hand crept back to his cheek, stroking down his neck. 

He sighed. “Why now?”

Ardyn gave a little sigh, bed bouncing a bit as he gave a shrug. “Why not? Now is as pertinent time as ever.” 

“’The gods move in their own time.’” He growled before Ardyn could say the words. “If they could just let me sleep. The wedding is in three days, and Regis is driving me absolutely mad. One would think he is the only king in the history of Lucis to ever be wed.”

Ardyn laughed a bit, thumb circling against the base of his skull. “Do you wish to try to sleep again? Or shall I make us some tea to settle nerves?”

“I can make my own damned tea.” He protested vaguely. He appreciated that Ardyn wished to return care with care, but sometimes – now, especially – it was almost stifling. 

He had always been on his own, and now there were other people who wanted to help him, and he was handling the loss of independence poorly.

“Perhaps we can both make tea?” Ardyn suggested, neutral. “I wanted to have another look at your tattoo.”

“God tramp stamp.” He rubbed his arm. “What is this thing even good for? I thought it would stop the nightmares.”

“Visions, probably.” Ardyn corrected absently. “Could you hear anything I was just thinking?”

He shook his head. 

“So strong emotion or focus on my part in your direction. That is easy enough to avoid.” Ardyn nodded as thought that settled the matter. “But it is likely they are visions, not merely dreams. Something is wrong and as the gods are very disinclined to do their own work, someone must be called to settle things back to a normal level of raging against the heavens. That is what they do.”

“I would rather they pick someone else.” He muttered, rubbing his arm. “I’m not suited for this.”

Ardyn laughed easily. “You have a very impressive scowl, darling. Perhaps they thought you would turn whatever it was to rights with that? But in truth, it is a matter of the problem being the nail they need pounded back in and locating the most amiable hammer for the job.” He made a gesture towards him. “It seems they picked you. Now, tea? Or sleep?”

“Tea.” He decided, moving to get up. 

Ardyn permitted him the chance to almost fall before getting up and helping him into the kitchen, puttering around as he started water for tea.

He let the sound soothe his nerves, watching Ardyn as he moved. Whatever the dream had been about, he didn’t want to think about it. The complete dissociation of losing himself had been too much. 

Better to forget it, leave it for another day. He didn’t need to return to it now.


	21. Chapter 21

The news that Tenebrae had fallen came on the eve of the king’s wedding; her queen taken, her prince jailed, her newborn princess – the newborn oracle – taken by forces unknown. No one felt quite like celebrating after that, but the show – as Ardyn called it – had to go on. Else the Nifs won the night.

He didn’t think the timing was chance. It was well known that Sylva was fond of Lucis, that she had a tight connection with the crown. 

Ardyn fretted over the children, over Sylva - up most of the night pacing after the couple was wedded at sunset – odd Lucian tradition. To end the day as one thing, with Aulea being crowned at dawn the next morning. The new queen. 

“Do you think my dream had anything to do with it?” He asked, rocking Alessa against his shoulder. She was cranky, because her father was unsettled, and not willing to be put down to bed. 

Four was a heck of an age, as far as he could tell. She was talking more, she and Ardyn had their own special language that only made sense between the pair of them. Ardyn had insisted she wasn’t ready to attend school yet, so mostly the kid kept him company while Cor was at work or otherwise engaged. 

“Perhaps. I cannot say without knowing what they have done.” Ardyn made a face, shrugging a bit miserably. “I cannot think that they would be foolish enough to kill any of them.”

“I am sure they are being kept hostage and tended to. Killing them would make no sense.” He looked down at Alessa, realizing only then that the words were probably a hollow comfort.

The worst things that Nifs had done had not involved death at all.

Alessa twisted in his arms, whining very softly, eyes squinted closed. Not asleep. Just upset. Tired. Cranky. 

It was wearing on all of them. 

There was nothing really to be done but wait for their spies to get back. “Regis will probably send me.”

“I know.” Ardyn finally sat down, taking Alessa away from him. “I cannot say if that worries me more or less, with Sylva and Ravus and Luna at risk. To send you after.”

Alessa was mollified only after Ardyn started to hum to her, the soft unfamiliar lullaby older than the entire city they sat in. 

“I will bring them back to you.” He promised softly. 

“Bring yourself back as well.” Ardyn whispered, shifting to rest his head against his shoulder. 

He lifted a hand, stroking the man’s hair gently, watching the last of the sunset die outside the window. 

He would get Sylva and her children back, he had to be sure of that. He had to believe that. 

*~* 

Being in the field by himself was strange. He had grown too used to having Ardyn a breath away behind him. 

He slunk through Gralea, trying to find Sylva. So far he had managed to find at least a small amount of Intel. The royal family was alive, Sylva and Luna were together. Where Ravus was he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t find a single mention of him in any of them. He had found a few of the delegates, working his way inward from the ruins of the former kingdom of Tenebrae. A few minor nobles – children of noble houses pressed into the military of Niflhiem. The only thing they could really be glad over was that the advance of the army had stopped, they were building up bases in Tenebrae, but making no effort to push further into territory. 

It was a hollow sort of comfort. But it was something to report. 

He had been here almost five months, scanning the radios and communications, getting into as many places as he could. 

He was missing Laelia having the kid. If he was keeping track of time correctly. Or if the baby hadn’t come early. 

It was a bittersweet thought. Ardyn was there, he had no doubt she would be fine. But his first nephew. Clarus’ baby, his nephew. His family, in everything but blood. 

Clarus was keeping him updated at his drops, keeping up the slow filter of information to where he could use the memories of home without becoming overwhelmed. 

Missing half a year of his life in the process. 

For the crown.

No. For Regis. For Ardyn. For Sylva who was ever kind, for the children who might not be his blood or bone, but whom he cared for. 

The gods losing a voice didn’t matter much to him. They’d find another if they needed one. But Sylva and her daughter, and Ravus who still laughed too loud when someone picked him up suddenly – he would stay for them. Search for them until they were safe again.

Fuel the resistance in Tenebrae, give them pointers as they turned their skills from peace to war. 

It sometimes meant arming famers, encouraging a safer way than a frontal assault. Bombs and thefts to break the restrictions. 

Combat experience. 

He rubbed his arm, staring at the battered map on the equally battered table. Sooner or later, he would find Sylva and the kids. He would get them home. 

“Sir?” 

He turned to look at the kid. “Status?” 

Kinkade walked slowly forward. “We’re through. One of ours. Ten of theirs.” 

“Good. Let me know when we make contact. Try to keep it quiet. We want to enter without all of the alarms being raised. Secure the queen and the princess before anything else.” 

Kincaid saluted. “Sir.” 

He watched the kid go. Not so much a kid. He had a wife, a child of his own. Young, but already started on a life before the Nifs had wrecked so much shit.

He felt bad dragging him into this, but he also didn’t. The world needed people who were willing to take these risks.

He turned back to the data, staring at the map, demanding the young Prince’s location be revealed.

He had promised Ardyn he would bring them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so unwell today I barely scratched this 1K out. So sorry for the length of the chapter!


	22. Chapter 22

“Neither of us are Ardyn.” Sylva said quietly, perched on the edge of his bed.

“No.” He agreed, watching her. There was a frailty to her that he didn’t remember – where before he had been sure that she had been carved of stone, now he could see the cracks in her plaster. Still beautiful, but she had known a fear he couldn’t understand.

She bowed her head, shoulders trembling. “Could you pretend for me tonight? Or ….be yourself. I wish only for you to hold me. I know I will be safe if you are here.”

He lifted the blanket in a wordless offer, helping her settle by his side. It was a far cry from the Citadel or any palace, the bed was too narrow for sprawling, the mattress was too hard for comfort. But she settled into his arms and nestled against his shoulder, trembling as though it were glass she was spun from. Or spiderweb. So delicate as to be lost the moment he held her too hard. 

He pressed lips to the top of her head, tucking her closer.

“Just for tonight.” She murmured against his chest.

“Whenever you need me.” He corrected, gentle, brushing hair back from her face. “Whenever you call.”

The tattoo on his arm burned, almost as though whatever it was connected to heard him. 

“Please find him.” Sylva whispered against his neck. “Please find him, Cor.” 

He could not promise that, the words caught in his throat. He bowed his head over hers and she started to sob, shedding fine threads of light as she unraveled within his arms. 

“Stay.” He whispered, trying to hold her there. But she was gone. He was alone in the room again.

He woke with a start, sitting up and staring about the room. There was nothing, no hint of the Queen. They were weeks away from rescuing her from her prison. 

He touched the bed carefully, gingerly. It was warm, but he could convince himself it was only the warmth of his own body, save for a single long strand of silver hair caught on the pillow. 

He lifted it with his fingertip, studying it intently. 

It was the only evidence left of the dream. 

 

*~*

“So if you were a nation that strove to restore an ancient civilization, what would you do with bits of Astral?” He asked Monica, studying the pictures on the table. 

“I can’t answer that. What I can tell you is that the research centers are full of the tissue. They’ve not taken anymore – removing the arm nearly woke it – but they are very much using what they have.” She frowned. “I think they’re trying to clone it. Him. The Infernian.”

“Shiva’s tits. We’re going to bear witness to a second Solhiem if it doesn’t scorch us as well.” He leaned on the table. “I don’t want to touch it. I’m almost afraid to destroy it. Like some children’s tale. As though he might rise up and come seeking out his finger bones.” 

Monica shuddered. “Thank you for that, Leonis.” 

“I can’t be the only one with wicked dreams.” He returned, dry, reaching for his whiskey. “So what does his majesty say?”

“Only that we should be careful if they do manage to clone him. The other gods may take offence.” She circled the table, studying his work.

“’May’?” He echoed, amused. 

“Meaning they most likely will. That they have not already….Ardyn muttered something about ‘Eos’ and vanished. He took Alessa with him, but none of the rest of us have seen him. So. He may have some clue that we don’t know yet.” Monica lifted the most recent picture they had of Sylva and Luna. “No luck with the boy?”

“It is as though he vanished. We’re close to being able to move on Sylva and Luna, so at least the Oracle will be secure.” He hated their inability to find Ravus, knew it would trouble Ardyn. Neither of them were the sort to forget a child. “I am more worried about how few children there seem to be in Gralea. Almost as though some plague beset them recently, but there are no records.”

“I want to think about that less than Ifrit getting out of his ice bath to seek out the bits of him that are lost.” Monica muttered. “The last thing we need is something contagious making its way back to Lucis.”

“I think something more insidious than simple illness. Kincaid tells me that entire villages have been left bare, not a child within a home.” He sat down. “I think they’re doing something to the kids.”

Monica sighed. “Find the supply lines and we can send support, but for now his majesty’s orders remain the same. Find Queen Sylva and her children, remove them from the custody of the Emperor.” She looked at him, searching. “And no heroics, that was from Ardyn.”

He smiled a bit, rubbing his arm. It was a reflex by now, the faint heat that never faded. “I am glad to see you.”

“I would have come sooner if I could.” She grimaced softly. “Too many heads.”

“I know. But you’re here now, and I am sure with the added support and eyes you bring, we can solve it.”

He hoped, anyway.


	23. Chapter 23

As it happened, he was elbow deep in the guts of a nif when the next level of the bullshit that had become his life triggered.

The mark on his arm twisted. He didn't know if it moved or if the uncoiling within him was just energy spiraling outward. His eyes burned - Monica verified later that they had glowed, burning with a power unlike anything they had seen before. 

The moogle appeared before him, holding the damned book in its paws. It looked around, and then up at him. "Well." It said, sounding quite put out. "This is certainly a mess." It closed the book with a snap and tossed it lightly in the air where it vanished with a solid 'pop' of magic that felt like a fizzy drink on his skin. 

The tattoo twisted again and he recoiled, falling into the blood as something within him _pulled_ almost violently and the moogle transformed into the beast.

The roar almost deafened him at the bear spread its wings, air bursting into flame. It burned the nif soldiers alive, cooking them from the inside out until nothing remained but ashes.

It left bright specks in his vision, and dried blood over his torso.

The after images had barely faded when Kincaid - a seasoned soldier now - lost his lunch all over the filth strewn ground.

"What was that?" Monica asked, voice clipped.

He could tell she was just as shaken as he was, shoulders drawn tight beneath her suit. "Later. We need to finish here. Kincaid?"

"Sorry." The young man muttered, wiping the back of his mouth with his sleeve. "I'll manage, sir."

He nodded, shooting Monica a look - questioning.

She gave a shaky nod, looking unease as she flicked her gaze around. "Let's move." She reloaded on autopilot.

He rubbed his arms, staggering to his feet and pulling his sword free of the burned out husk.

Kincaid made a gagging sound.

"Steady. It's alright. Let's get what we came for and fall back." Astrels this was madness. Why? Why him? Why would a messenger tie itself to him?

Regardless, they had a mission. A little divine intervention was to be accepted for now. He would send Regis his questions later.

Had to keep moving.

 

They were almost there. He couldn’t stop now.   
*~*  
Sylva looked as she had in his dreams, a little bit paler, a little bit thinner and somehow far more fragile.

Luna stood up on the bed with a gasp of his name, practically flinging herself into his arms. He stared past the child - whom he had only met the once, not too long after her birth - to her mother who stood slowly and carefully from the embroidery she had been doing.

She took his hand slowly, allowing herself to be drawn after him.

He squeezed the hand until she gasped, pale eyes focusing on him.

"Making sure my mind is not playing tricks again." He told her softly.

She offered a wane, pale smile as he led her out.

No soldiers challenged them, not a thing to stop them save reinforcements slowly drifting out of their positions.

It was honestly one of the most eerie situations he had ever found himself in, and it was clear that something had changed with the way the resistance viewed him.

They held themselves a little bit back, bowing a bit with their eyes on him.

Kincaid and Monica joined him at the entrance, Monica dropping a blanket over her majesty’s shoulders.

"Have you found Ravus?" The queen asked softly.

"No, Majesty." Monica answered gently.

Queen Sylva drew herself up, eyes teary, but nodded as gracefully as she could. "Then let us be rid of this place. I would very much like to never see it again. Cor?"

The softness of his name was at odds with the rest of the statement. 

He nodded, looking to Kincaid. "Scan for supplies and information. Make sure you are out of here within two hours. No use getting sloppy because the field is clear." He wanted to hand Luna to her mother, but the girl had wrapped her arms around his neck and seemed intent on staying where she was.

"Yes sir." Kincaid saluted.

He looked at the man - for the first time seeing a trace of fear in his eyes.

Damn.

He hated that he had done that, he hadn't meant to. He hated that this was likely the last mission he would undertake with them - his mission was accomplished, save for Ravus. And Regis would want him to escort them both to safety in Lucis while their allies considered what to do.

"You are brave men and women. I could not have done any of this without you. All would be lost without your courage." He extended his hand to Kincaid, who reached back after a moment. He kept the grip firm, giving it a solid shake. "It has been my honor."

"Mine too." Kincaid said softly. "Take care of them sir."

"I will. You can contact me if you need me." 

Kincaid nodded and stepped back.

Monica fell into step with them.

Sylva's hand warmed within his.

After nearly a year in the field, he was going home.


	24. Chapter 24

Ardyn met them at the gate, nearly pulling them out of the car to embrace them. 

“I had heard you were traveling.” He whispered, looping an arm around his waist and leaning in. Spending more than a year away from the immortal Caelum had settled uneasily on his shoulders. They had before that been practically joined at the hip. But Regis had insisted that Ardyn should not go – not when they still didn’t know what the Nifs had wanted. 

“I heard you were returning. So we came back.” Ardyn kissed him then, which he had been expecting, power reaching through him and stroking over the mess of new scars and injures before the man pulled back, cradling his cheek and pressing a more affectionate kiss to his forehead before turning to Sylva, repeating the process with her. 

He closed his ears to their soft, private conversation, leaning his head against Ardyn’s shoulder.   
“You are both exhausted, and I am keeping you awake for my own pleasure. My car is here, and I have a seat for Luna, so that I might take you three home and allow you some rest.” Ardyn said gently, though he didn’t release them.

“Regis wanted my report.” He muttered, faint protest. 

“He read the written summery. He can abide with that until the morning.” A gentle tug, as Monica stepped out of the car with Luna in her arms, carrying the girl to the car. 

“Monica.” He protested. 

“Regis would rather you be coherent for the speech, Cor. Go home, rest.” She ordered. 

He made a face, but let Ardyn lead him to the car. 

Sylva swayed softly in his other arm, eyes mostly closed, trusting the prince to guide her. 

He was home, even if he hadn’t reached it yet. He might want to argue, but he was home. His mission was done. 

Almost. Almost done. The moment they had a lead on Ravus he would be back. He had to be back. 

*~*

Ardyn bathed Luna and put her to bed in Alessa’s room with the older child to mind. Luna had gazed up at him with wide, shocked eyes and had accepted his handling with not a whisper of protest. 

Which was odd for Luna, but he had come to find out that everything was “odd” for Luna. The child worked by her own rules, guessing intentions with perception far beyond her toddling years.

Sylva watched it all with a sleepy smile, hands gathered in her lap. There was still a weakness to her that hadn’t faded yet, and he was hoping that Ardyn would be able to strengthen her. The loss of Ravus and her kingdom had not settled easily. 

Ardyn came to them with a steaming basin filled with water, and an armload of towels and washrags. 

He assumed they were for Sylva, but Ardyn knelt by him first, stripping him of his boots and outer clothing to run warm rags over his skin. 

He was tense at first, but slowly relaxed, eyes falling half closed as the man tended him, taking special care to wash his new scars – Elixers never healed things entirely cleanly, not without a Caelum there to encourage the process – brushing carefully over the tattoo as well. The water was mildly treated with mint and lavender, and the steam of it was making him relax even more.

He even tolerated the rather ticklish feeling of Ardyn washing feet, treating and wrapping the blisters on his ankles. 

Ardyn brought him clothes and helped him dress before rubbing the soft fuzz of his hair and beard with soap and warmed water before tucking him into bed. The cream on his feet was numbing him pleasantly, and he drifted until Ardyn brought Sylva to their bed and curled between them. 

It was not an unpleasant homecoming. He hadn’t been expecting one, but sleeping without the dirt and sweat that had covered him for the past year, with Ardyn wrapping him up and tugging him gently against his chest to cuddle was not the one he had expected.

But maybe it had been the one he wanted. 

*~*

Life slotted back together almost as though he had never left at all. Ardyn clung perhaps a bit more tightly to him, the kisses were perhaps a touch more frantic, the hugs were a little bit longer – but the feeling behind them remained the same. He was the shield of an impossible man, one who had lived too long and wore his age like a curse some days, and a blessing on others. A healer who was like none other. But at the core a very lost and lonely person whom he cared very deeply for. 

“Perhaps a day off?” Ardyn suggested, cutting Luna’s food for her. “We could visit the hanging gardens, allow the children a brief respite from tutors and nannies?” 

“Not today.” He finished his coffee, watching the little princess eat. “Sylva?”

“I have to meet with the council.” She made an unpleasant face. “Again. It seems that by Lucian rules I should be wed, and they lack a willing king to make it so. So they try and fail to convince me of my need to secure the throne with a legitimate child. As though who Luna’s mother was has ever been in any doubt?”

Ardyn rolled his eyes. “For a group of rather prudish people, they have a certain amount of desperate energy to focus on the bedmates of others. Do they worry I will romance you in the night and bloom a new daughter within you?”

Sylva’s cheeks pinked a bit. “I do not know what they imagine we do, Ardyn. I do not care to ask.”

They certainly did all of the things that could see the woman’s belly swelling. But they had been doing that for years and years. Even before Ravus had been conceived. He wouldn’t be shocked if they did manage another child between them.

His only wish was that they kept quiet about it, and they usually took their bedsport elsewhere if it seemed to become heated, joining him only in their shared bed once they were done. 

“Well, if they come demanding of me that I make a wife of you, I will remind them gladly that to do so I would need to renounce my claim of Caelum blood and line, which they will not agree to.” Ardyn shrugged expansively. “I care not who you chose to sire your children, Sylva, I shall love each the same.”

Sylva smiled, shoulders relaxing. Her skin was gaining better color in Lucis, which was likely why the council had chosen to focus on the sheltering queen. 

“Or you could marry Cor.” Ardyn pointed out gleefully. “I wonder how badly that would set their tongues to wagging?”

“Oh gods, they would like to suggest htat.” She gave him a fond look. “But I doubt that cor would agree to any marriage.”

“I would rather my line end with me.” He pointed out drolly, around another mouthful of coffee. 

“Of course you would.” Ardyn smiled fondly in his direction. “I am half convinced the gods crafted you in a glade and left you in Lucis to be found.” 

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I must get to the Citadel. Sylva, do you want to travel with me today or should I send a car?”

“A car later. I want to make myself presentable.” She touched her still mussed hair from sleeping.

“Very well. I will see you this afternoon for lunch?” The last he directed at Ardyn, questioning.

“I will find you if you don’t come to the spot. Now, Luna, what shall you wear today? Shall we wear the blue dress or the yellow dress?” Ardyn asked the baby.

Luna giggled.

He smiled fondly at the little group, heading out the door.


	25. Chapter 25

The sacred and the profane, joined together in the nightmare.

He stared at the scene beneath him, at the twisted form of the man who was longer a man that wailed and writhed like a wounded beast on the floor.

His name was - or had been - Fara De Cevro. He had once been the royal consort and minder of Sylva's children - though if he were their father was a hotly contested issue.

Sylva had the look of a woman who had seen a ghost, and stood just to the right of Regis on the dais.

Dratous looked mostly unmoved, standing a bit to the left of the pitiable creature.

That his face was still recognizably his, even if one arm had the look of cooked meat and the rest of his body was covered in scars and mottled where cloth had not been draped out of some laughable attempt to preserve modesty.

Ardyn knelt by his head, fingers having above his skull with an inch of clearance. As though he too resisted touching the twisted form.

"Well?" Regis asked softly, after some time had passed.

"I thought perhaps the graft was taking. But it seems his body is rejecting it." Ardyn lifted his head. "He is dying, oh king."

Sylva made a nose in her throat. "We cannot remove it?"

Ardyn touched the flesh joined to the shoulder. "I believe the godsight has driven him mad. Even if I were able to remove the flesh, he would likely die of shock immediately. I am sorry."

She gave another little moan and walked down the stairs to join him, lifting Fara's head to her lap and stroking his hair.

Cor found himself shuddering a bit. Bone had started to dome outward, allowing spires of horn to escape, and his head was covered in a sticky mix of blood and fluids he did not want to guess at.

"Fara, my darling, wake." The queen murmured. 

The creature stirred, clawed feet scraping against the marble floors, head thrashing as he sought release from the pain. He couldn't be sure if the poor man could even see her.

Hands glowing, Sylva bowed her head over him, lips moving in a wordless conversation. He seemed to answer her briefly, not entirely focused but close enough that when he turned his head to gaze at Ardyn the relief was clear on his face.

Sylva was crying quietly, tears rolling down her cheeks to smatter on his face. "Grant him your mercy, my prince. Grant him peace."

Ardyn's face softened further still, he leaned forward and clasped Fara's hand briefly. "The gods will grant you peace, my friend, I can grant you only a quiet end."

Fara nodded, Sylva's tears making it seem that he was crying as well 

Ardyn nodded, bowed his head. Dratous and Regis both looked away. He saw the man's chest draw a final, trembling breath before a sigh left him and he breathed no more.

Ardyn sat back, eyes closed.

Sylva clasped the dead man close, then stood and lifted her head. "He should be prepared for burial. He deserves that dignity at least."

*~*

Ardyn joined him on the balcony with a bottle of wine held loosely by the neck. 

“She asleep?” He asked quietly, glancing at the wine.

Ardyn gave a small shake of his head. “With Luna. Preparing for the funeral. She wants Luna to give the speech of the dead. She says it is only right…as…”

“She’s still two.” He whispered. 

“She speaks well for two, she will not dishonor him.” Ardyn squinted at the far horizon, and lifted the wine bottle to his lips.

“How are you?” He asked, bumping his shoulder lightly against Ardyn. 

“Hm. Breathing. Not a twisted creature half composed of the blood of the Infernian.” Ardyn quirked his lips, offering the wine bottle. “Struggling. I think of Fara and…”

Ravus. No one could avoid thinking of Ravus. In the time that Fara had been twisted into a creature almost none could recognize and left on Lucis’ doorway to be found by Dratous on a normal patrol. 

“I will push it from my mind as I can, but…it was easy to forget. The joy of having you home.” Ardyn closed his eyes. 

He took the wine bottle and took a swig – he was in a red mood, the wine dry and harsh as it rolled down his throat. Ardyn’s moods tended to reflect on what he was drinking. Sweet and fruity meant he was happy, harsh reds were a moody blend. 

“I wanted to find him.” He admitted, handing back the wine bottle.

“I know you did, my love.” Ardyn looked tired. “But give me a few spares moments to mope.”

He nodded, leaning into him, allowing him the moment as requested. 

Ardyn lifted his chin after a long time spent in silence, mouth pressing to his in a gentle caress. “Thank you.” 

“I’m with you.” He murmured, touching Ardyn’s cheek. “No matter what the cost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone blame Lutz for the horror show, because they asked and I started thinking about it.


	26. Chapter 26

He knew the press of the dream even before he opened his eyes. Normally, he had some movement. But now he stood pressed against the wall, unable almost to turn his head or eyes to gaze around the room. A man sat on a bed, holding an infant. He was naked to the waist, save for jewelry about his limbs and neck, and a crown sporting a twisted horn on his brow. He had a wild look about him, smile seeming a bit toothy, his hair so stiff it behaved as fur might. 

The woman on the bed was also naked to the waist, her chest bared as she gave suck to a second infant, a soft shawl draped around her shoulders for warmth. She wore a thick golden torque around her neck, but no crown, her golden hair tumbling 

The wild man smiled and kissed her brow.

He felt like an intruder, standing in the corner of their bedchamber in what was clearly a very intimate moment between them and the newborns. He knew without taking a closer look that the babes were newly born, and this was the moment of their naming. 

“Hm.” The woman said. “He has your darkness, my love, and she my light.” 

“Each has the true beauty of your eyes, my love.” The wild man told her. “Shall we name them?”

“You had chosen Caelum, a fitting name for the son of the King of Light.” The woman beamed up at the man. “For our daughter. For our daughter I would call her Flora, if that would please you?”

The wildness softened into protective fondness. “Eos….” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, and the room changed, twisting around him. 

He stood in a throne room, on his hands and knees. The queen was held aloft by a darkly cloaked figure, hands clasping at his tightening fingers. 

The king was held down by a strongman, craggy face marked by thick blue lines. He howled with rage, thrashing against the hold. “Leave her! LEAVE HER! IT IS ME YOU SEEK, COWARD!” 

“So this is what has cast thee to thine knees.” The dark figure murmured. “The light bringer. The king of light. These creatures have earned your fondness, but they are little more than beasts.”

The words settled heavy in his ears, not a language he knew. But the dream allowed him to know. 

“But which, brother, is it you value more? This pathetic mewling creature that you have sired offspring with or these people who cry your name?”

“If-i.” The woman gasped. 

“Which would you choose?” The dark one lowered the woman to the ground, one hand wrapping around her torso to keep her at his side.

“We have done nothing to you!” The woman cried, confused and clearly terrified. “Leave us!” 

“Eos!” The man growled. “Be silent.” 

The woman clutched a hand to her mouth, shaking with silent sobs as she obeyed the king.

“What would you have me do?” The man demanded. 

“This city of light you have built offends me.” The dark figure said calmly. “You have enlightened these beasts, given them the thought that they might be as worthy as we.” The clawed hand closed around the woman, drawing a whimper of pain from her. “You have mixed Our blood with theirs. I shall allow you this woman and the half-blooded spawn you have created. But in return, you will destroy the rest.”

The wild man groaned, lurching against the man who held him down. “Why do you hate them so? They are capable of learning, brother. They are-all of these souls? For what? FOR WHAT?!”

“So be it.” The hand tightened cruelly around the woman, piercing her, crushing the life from her in a moment. 

“NO!” The wild man burned and thrashed, but the hulking figure held him down as the woman’s corpse was dropped to the floor.

“If you wish those children to live, then you have a week to prove your devotion. Err they die like their mother.” A gesture to the hulking creature, and the king was released, scrambling across the floor to lift the queen’s crushed body in his arms. 

“Eos. Eos, no….” He stroked her face as tenderly as he had when she had born the twins, kissing her lips, tears running freely down his cheeks. “No, no.”

“A mewling fool they have made of you brother.” The dark figure murmured. “You wail and mourn a life that would have ended soon enough.”

The king wailed again. He tried to pry himself from the wall, to reach for the man so clearly gone mad with grief, but whatever held him as the observer held him fast. He had not freedom.

‘So Solhiem fell, and my king was banished.’ 

He jerked awake with a gasp, halfway across the bedroom before he realized that he had moved at all. His body ached, muscles burning from the strain of trying to move for so long. 

He gagged on his own sobbing breath, pressing his head against the wall, mark burning. It felt almost as bad as it had when the damned thing had appeared. 

“Cor? Cor?” Ardyn’s voice was gentle, hands pressing against his back.

The aches eased almost at once as Ardyn’s power mended things strained. He shivered, rubbing his face against the wall, entire body giving a convulsive shudder. 

“What was it? What did you dream?” 

He opened his mouth, but something stilled his voice. 

‘He listens.’ 

He shuddered. “Trapped. Again. I don’t….Gods.”

“Sh sh.” Ardyn murmured. “Come back to bed, let me help. You’ve sweated through your clothes.” 

He let Ardyn drag him back to bed, peeling the shirt and pants off and wrapping him up in a robe that would suffice for sleeping it. 

Ardyn’s fingers brushed over his forehead, smoothing down his cheek. Something in the tilt of his head, the concern in his eyes suddenly unfamiliar in a new way. Wildness. 

He felt like he was going to be sick.

‘Well spotted.’ The voice told him gently. ‘You know. Use it carefully.’

Use it? How was he going to use it? He wasn’t even sure he understood what he had seen. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Ardyn’s stomach, the move rewarded with a gentle caress to the back of his neck, fingers soothing the last of his chill away. 

“I dislike these dreams. I wish I could share this weight with you.” Ardyn whispered, fingers soothing down his neck, tangling with the small hairs that had grown too long at the nape of his neck.

“Some of them are yours.” He muttered into the firm muscle of Ardyn’s stomach. 

“I know. Those I would rather keep to myself entirely.” Ardyn sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, my shield, I do not like to see you suffer so. That my dreams are sometimes yours…I do not like it.” 

He lifted his hand to Ardyn’s hip, gripping it tightly. Warm muscle beneath his hand, solid and powerful. His prince.


	27. Chapter 27

He knew with absolute certainty that this door had not been here before. It had no place in the sleek, modern Citadel. It was an oddly round door, to start, with an ornate and entirely impractical doorknocker modeled after a moogle, if he wasn’t mistaken. The handle itself was a gaudy thing of heavy gold. 

He glanced to either side of him, but the hall was empty. Despite the fact that Clarus had but a moment ago been walking at his side, sharing some story about Gladio and his wife that he had been half listening to as he pondered his dreams. 

Gods be damned. 

He swore quietly to himself before reaching to touch the ornate doorknob. It turned at his touch, not even needing him to extend that much effort.

He stared into the library, which looked entirely the same as the last time he was there. 

He spared another glance to either side of him, hand resting on his sword as he stepped inside.

The door closed behind him without a sound, vanishing into a wall covered completely with maps. 

“Moogle.” He said, not really summoning it as much as demanded it present itself.

It appeared out of the stacks, the book still held in its paws. “Shield.”

“Not quite. You’re looking for Clarus.” He had never until that moment wondered if a Moogle could roll its eyes. But he had the answer to that unasked question now and he somewhat wished he didn’t. 

“You may not be shield to the current king, but you are yet a shield.” The moogle corrected him, somehow looking down its nose at him despite the fact that it was the size of a football.

He stared at it blankly. “What do you want?”

“A grave many things that we do not have time to address. You have kept your silence, which is good.”

“I don’t understand why though.” He sighed, lifting his hand to his face, rubbing it slowly. 

“The Draconian is a nosy creature. He listens always outside of protected realms. He has worked tirelessly to write his version of the truth; as Somnus did to the prince you serve.” The moogle held the book aloft. “The history of the world, as writ by the god of war. As they say, what the victor wills is what is told. So the world believes, and so the world will continue to believe so long as the Bladekeeper rules over the crystal.” 

He sank down, trying to alleviate the cramp in his neck. “What do you want me to do?”

“Make right what is been wronged, the many wrongs that have been done.” The moogle stroked its finger down the spine of the book. “Free my king, so that he might find his Eos again.”

“You speak of Eos…but you speak of the woman that he loved. That….Ifrit loved. I thought that…The Glacian?”

The moogle snorted, dismissive. “Her? She loved my king, certainly. My king had eyes only for Eos, for his queen at his side.” 

He considered. “The Nifs have him.”

Dark eyes studied him, tiny head tilting lightly to the side.

“But you knew that. What are you? Who are you? I still don’t understand what is happening.” He sank down further. 

“In some worlds they call me Maduin. Others have other names. It will do for our purpose.”

“Maduin.” He repeated slowly. “Why me?” 

The moogle rolled its eyes again. It was an unsettling expression on something that resembled a stuffed toy. “You are a Shield, The Shield of the Immortal Prince, Ardyn the Undying, Healer of Eos, protector of the meek, rightful king of Lucis, heir to the throne of Solheim and descendent of Ifrit the Infernian who was king of light before him. If not you, then who?” 

He was not prone to being easily embarrassed, but he felt his cheeks heating, face going red under the rebuke. “I just….I guess I fail to understand. I am nothing.”

The moogle pinned him with a look. “You certainly are not much of a good listener.”

“I have no bloodline to offer, no claim to be anything but what I am.” He protested. 

The moogle sighed deeply, pinching above its little nose. It would have been cute – like something out of a children’s movie – if not for the fact that he knew what the cute little thing could turn into. “I forget how much value you silly things put on whose blood you carry, and forget that heroes were merely men and women that were chosen from stock – royal or not – to serve the purpose of their calling. Very well, Cor Leonis, Shield, you are nothing. And that….is something. It may not appear to be something to you, but does not mean you are not chosen for your purpose.”

He sighed. “Are you going to keep giving me weird dreams?”

The moogle was silent.

“Because that is how you can show me things that the Bladekeeper cannot hear?” He guessed. 

“Ah. Good. You were listening. Continue as you are. I will guide your path where I may, but know that you head in the right direction. So it was that you were chosen.” 

“And this place, what you do here…he cannot see or hear?”

The moogle smiled, which might be more disturbing than the eye roll was. There were far too many teeth in that tiny mouth, yellowed and long as they were bared. “Here is my domain. A middle space, betwixt the worlds. Where what history might be hidden or destroyed is kept, preserved, and recorded.” 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Because it must be. That is my purpose.” The moogle gestured imperiously to the door. “Now be off with you, child of Eos, daughter of Etro, whose gate we guard eternal.” It made an odd, complicated gesture with its paws that he didn’t recognize.

He found himself standing in the hall, facing a blank wall.

“Not getting enough sleep?” Clarus asked behind him.

“Huh? Oh. No, probably not.” He shook his head roughly. “Starting to see things.”

Clarus clapped him on the shoulder. “Need to send you on another vacation. Maybe you can watch Gladio? Hear you’re getting pretty good with kids.”

“I’m good with Luna and Alessa. Both of whom are not normal children.” He corrected absently. “Gladio still moves like he has no bones.”

Clarus laughed, pulling him into a rough embrace. “You’re getting old. I never thought you’d live this long.”

He rolled his eyes. “So thankful for the vote of confidence.” 

“Hey now, you were a rowdy kid. Seeing you settled down with a husband, a live in girlfriend and a couple of kids is good for the soul.” Clarus was laughing.

He sighed, giving a small push at his friend. “We’re not married.”

“Easily fixed, Regis can officiate.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re impulsive, live a little!” Clarus chuckled, roughing his head again.

He submitted to it, more or less, letting Clarus lead. He loved and hated the man at times. Sometimes with the same breath.

But still, he had a lot to think of. Eos, daughter of Etro? But what was Etro, save some vague mysticism about death? Hadn’t that been the Solheim word for death? 

So why call Eos – who had appeared a human woman – the daughter of Etro? 

Clarus capped his shoulder again, as he lost himself to the pondering. Everything the moogle told him was a clue, somehow. Even Ardyn list of titles – titles he knew the man would never lay claim to, not even for a breath of life within his form – so…why? 

When did his life stop making sense? 

*~*

She was smaller than he had imagined, because Sylva was a tall woman. But he knew her even before she lifted her head to smile at him. “Aera.”

“Cor.” She greeted in turn, motioning to the log. “It is almost ready. Sit with me for a little while?” 

She had a pot over a small fire, which she fanned with a leaf. 

He sat on the log, watching her intently. This was the woman? The one that had driven Ardyn nearly mad, the one that had ‘died’ only to live again.

“We keep meeting.” She said softly. “Twining around each other. Our bloodlines thinning as they go, or strengthening.”

“What?” He blinked, shaking his head. 

“Caelum and I.” Aera said. “Or Caelum and We.” She touched her breast, pressing down at the soft flesh. “It is lonely here now that Ardyn has awoken, yet I cannot force myself to call him hence. I wish him to know peace.” 

He frowned. “Are you….trapped here?”

She shook her head, metal jangling as she lifted the pot from the tiny flame, ladling two small bowls of soup which she held in either hand.

He was reminded of a statue he had seen, once, of justice. Some artistic twisting of a woman who looked down but held a bowl in either hand.

“Which will you choose, Cor?” Aera asked gently. 

“They were poured from the same pot, is there a difference?” He asked, mildly amused by the question.

She drew her hands inward, the small bowls balanced perfectly on her tiny hands and steaming faintly.

The smell was strange, a mix of sweetness and spice, savory and sugar. He inhaled deeply, only for it to catch on the back of his tongue, nearly gagging him.

She lifted her eyes, staring at him, brow knit together. “Which will you choose, Cor?”

“Which would you choose?” He asked, covering his mouth with his hand.

Her lips quirked, eyes flicking away, finding some point on the horizon. 

“Sister, brother, mother, father.” Aera said softly. “When shall we four meet again?” 

He opened his mouth to say something to her, but a form pushed its way through the grass. 

Aera rose, her bowls falling from her hands, landing with dull thuds on the dusty earth.

“Well, what is it you do here, witch?” The man – Somnus, he knew Somnus, he always knew Somnus. – demanded. 

“Nothing.” Aera answered, chin lifted, defiance clear. 

Somnus stepped forward, past her, staring down at him. “You are not my brother.”

His sword was not at his side, which was a pity. He should have greatly loved to stab the imperious brat right through the gut. “No. It appears I am not. Surely you are not still this full of hate.”

Somnus sneered at him. “You know nothing of me, whelp.”

“I know enough to wish you yet lived.” His hand cupped at his side, though no sword appeared.

Somnus did tense for a moment, eying the hand at his side as though he were about to do something. The tension eased only when nothing appeared. “Why speak to him, Aera, if you have breath for it? Why not call Ardyn?”

“Because we both know what you would do, Somnus. It is what you always do, a useless repetition.” Aera snapped, kneeling to pick up the bowls and shake them out. 

It was so normal, such a mundane task for a woman so clearly a spirit that he found himself staring at her hands, watching as she used a little water to wash them out. As though they might spoil, the food might harden and she would be…what? Left with pots to scrub?

He reached down and touched the wood of the stump, caressing it, searching for something he couldn’t explain.

Somnus sounded less irritated and more tired when he spoke. “Now what does it do?”

“I think he has begun to realize.” Aera murmured. 

“Is he meant to?” Somnus asked, seemingly confused. 

Aera said nothing, still packing up her pots in the little basket they had come from, each carefully placed in its spot. 

He tore away the shard of wood, pressing it beneath his nail. It hurt, but if it proved his suspicion it would be worth it. 

“Aera.” He said quietly. “Aera, is this…?”

She smiled warmly, and blew on her fire, scattering the sticks and his conscious recollection.


	28. Chapter 28

"You know I can fix that." Ardyn said, frowning at his hand with clear distain.

He stopped rubbing the finger, shaking his head. "I am testing a theory." The splinter was still there, a spot of darkness beneath his nail. It throbbed slightly

"What? If you can spread infection to your entire body from one fingertip?" Ardyn scowled. "I can remove it and heal it. It will take but a moment and cause no pain."

"It is not infected." He pressed down on it with his thumb, closing his eyes.

"Yet." Ardyn took his wrist, fussing with his sleeve, touch barely caressing the skin.

"It is fine. I'm not bleeding or feverish. Trust me." He smiled, catching Ardyn's hand in his own for a small squeeze.

Even though he had gotten it in a dream. It was there.

The dream space could impact his physical self.

Ardyn kissed his wrist, balling up his hand. "When you are ready then. Or when the grafting takes and your arm grows branches. Whichever comes first."

He snorted. "I will take no Ill from such a tiny thing." 

"So said the army of Concord about fleas." Ardyn said.

He laughed, glad when Ardyn allowed the subject to drop.

It was nicer to spend their time together in peace, not bickering. Though Ardyn could bicker with the best of them.

He wondered at times how he had practiced it, the more he learned about his life prior.

"A Gil for your thoughts." Ardyn said softly.

"Wondering how a hermit practiced debate skills. Did you argue with stones?"

Ardyn laughed. "Oh no. Somnus and I were rowdy boys. Our father would set us to playing chess if we were to get too loud. 'A game of strategy to clear the mind' he would say. Though we argued the first little while as we played." He looked wistful for a moment. "I miss those times, before we became so set against each other. It was a difficult time to be a boy. The Scourge was newly spreading, and while our father did what he could for those that looked to us, until I discovered my gift it was ....there were no cures for it. And it spread on the wind like blame."

He nodded, watching as Ardyn's face morph as he told the story - old sorrow, fondness, and finely guilt. "No wonder you are so petulant at times, if it was practiced during your boyhood."

"Ha. Don’t you have a meeting with our dear king you should be attending?" Ardyn poked out his tongue.

He balled up the trash from their lunch. "This is my office. You can't kick me out."

Ardyn sighed. "What must I do for my own, I wonder?"

"Get a job." He suggested mildly, catching Regis' eye through the crack in the door. "He's leaving."

"Bah. Yours will do. 'jobs'. What a concept." Ardyn got to his feet, clearly in a theatric mood. "Very well, oh king. You may have him."

He rolled his eyes at Regis, who smiled in return. "I will see you tonight."

"Regulated to a house husband." Ardyn declared on his way out the door.

Regis watched after him. "Somnus?"

"Good guess. Yes. It comes in fits and starts."

Regis looked briefly mournful. "I grieve for the hand dealt to him. My sister causes me no end of grief, but I cannot imagine walling her up to forget she existed." He paused. "For the most part, at least."

He snorted. "She up to her tricks?"

"More 'fainting' spells. Aulea is near to wringing her neck, if I am truthful. I need to match her with someone so she can live somewhere else. Though that is not what I came to speak to you about."

He inclined his head to the chair, cleaning the last of the debris off of the table. 

Regis sighed and lowered his body into the chair. “The nifs are moving again. Into the Ghorovas Rift.”

“One Astral in hand and onto another?” He asked, reaching under his desk to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. 

“So it seems. I worry about allow them to gain that ground.” Regis seemed pensive. “Do you think you would be willing?”

“I am at your service, my King.” He answered, pouring them each a glass. “To the Glacian, if she can’t hold her own, at least let us arrive in time.”

Regis tiredly lifted his cup. “Cheers to that.”  
*~*

It was fuck all cold in the Ghorovas Rift and he for one was quite tired of it. The damned bitch couldn’t even be bothered for make an appearance, even with an army out here rooting around for her and the rest of them trying to find where to defend her the best. 

He blew futilely into his hands, glaring into the thick snowfall. He couldn’t tell if the blizzard was the Glacian protecting herself or just the weather. He shuddered, despite his many layers of protective covering. 

Kincaid gave him a sympathetic look. “Nothing on any of our sensors. If we’re pinned down, so are they.”

He nodded, stomping towards the fire to try to strip off some of the layers over deep cold that surrounded him. “Who said she was moving? Who spotted that?”

“Callux did, sir. His team. Says they saw her moving in the crystal.”

Crystal, of course there were crystals. There were always crystals. “When this storm stops they’ll move.”

Kincaid nodded. “Most likely, sir. It would make the most sense. Nothing can fly in this weather.” 

He had to agree with that, but something still prickled down his spine. A warning that they were getting too cocky. Something was about to break, something big. 

Probably just the cold. 

“What do their forces look like?” He asked Kincaid. 

“Too many. There’s a couple odd ones, too. Seem to be keeping them in cages. We couldn’t get too close. There was some screaming, someone swearing up a storm.”

He frowned. “Someone?” 

Kincaid shrugged. “Said it sounded like a kid, but if a kid is capable of throwing around whatever sort of magic was making the bombs go off I’d say we steer clean.” 

He frowned. Might be one of the fused humans, but Fara had been mad by the time he reached them and he was an adult…a child? They were fielding a child? “Right. Well if their forces are mostly human, they’ll be feeling the cold like we are.” 

“Most likely, sir. It seems to affect their machines the most.” Kincaid rubbed his hands together over the fire. “But this storm has to end at some point.” 

It did. He closed his eyes, trying to unknot the worry in the back of his mind. He was missing something. Something vital.

Beneath his fingernail, even with as numb as his hands were, he could feel the splinter.  
“Smoke?” Kincaid asked, offering him the pack as he lit his own.

“Shiva’s tits, yes. Maybe it’ll warm the air in my lungs.” He took it, tapping one out. “Clarus hates when I smoke. Reminds him that he can’t.” 

Kincaid laughed. “I forget you Lucians are people sometimes, you know? It’s nice.”

“Hm?” He leaned forward for the light.

“You come out here, all full of the king’s magic and purpose. Cor the Immortal. Easy to forget you’re just a man. That the king shits like everyone else.” Kincaid shrugged. “Maybe one day I’ll figure it out. But you’re ok.”

He snorted. “Thanks. I think. Glad I pass.”

Kincaid chuckled, puffing away at the smoke.

They were all only waiting for the storm to break.  
~*~

Despite all warnings, he was not prepared for the airship bombardment. He had thought he was, but very little prepared one for the fact that they dropped Daemons to attack the resistance forces.

There were too many of them. Too many of the soldiers, too many of the beasts, too much of the little girl shrieking and fighting like a wild thing to loose her chains and with every gesture making the ground explode. He kept trying to get close enough to cut the chain, but found himself under heavy fire at every attempt.

They seemed to know that they had a behemoth by the tail, and were adjusting their plans accordingly. The child was a small,, scrappy thing. Barely clothed despite the snow and the cold.

One of his closest passes had made him sure that she had claws.

Then the Glacian rose and to put things mildly, everything went to hell. 

The drifts of snow that had encumbered both forces suddenly became weapons that were used against them indiscriminately. He found himself sheltering behind a rock with three Nifs, Kincaid, and two members of their force as she reached up and plucked an airship out of the sky, casting it down like Alessa did a toy that had displeased her. 

She had no recognition of which of them were on her side, and they lost men on both sides with every sweep of her arm. 

The explosion rattled him, knocking him back. She must have hit something else with it, something aside from the flesh that even now felt like it was being gnawed from his bones by the cold. It had damn near gone off on top of them. 

He thrashed around, head slamming solidly against something that chimed and rang – crystal – damn. 

He saws stars, blinking and crawling over the bodies of his companions, one of the nifs had been ripped in half by a piece of shrapnel. He couldn’t hear anything, the explosion had deafened him, leaving him with a ringing in his ears. He crawled toward Kincaid, who had blood around him mouth and ears, hands grasping at the metal protruding from his gut. His mouth was opening and closing in little gasping pants for breath. He was a dead man, his body just hadn’t finished dying yet.

“Kincaid. Hang on.” He told him, scrabbling for his restorative pouch. 

For a gods blighted moment, he thought he heard Ardyn calling his name, fingers closing around a Phoenix pinion and clasping it to Kincaid’s chest. “Work. Damnit. Work.” 

Kincaid was mouthing something at him, lips moving to try to say something even as his eyes rolled back into his head. 

“I can’t hear you. Work! FUCKING GODS! WORK!” Blood bubbled out of Kincaid’s mouth, dribbling down his chin. It was too dark. It was too damned dark. 

“You can’t die, Kincaid. That’s an order!” 

Around him, the battle went on. He was numb to it, he could feel the vibrations, knew his men died around him. But all he could think was that Kincaid had a son, a little boy. A child whom he loved, who he shared pictures of around the fire. 

“Work, damnit.” His eyes burned, tears freezing on his cheeks as quickly as they could fall. But the god’s magic refused to answer him. 

The earth shuddered beneath him, he covered the body reflexively with his own. The body. Not the man. Rage uncurled within him, blood smeared down his front, ruining any benefit his snow gear gave him. “HE WAS OUT HERE TO HELP YOU, YOU BITCH!” 

The Glacian was still batting at Airships, looking annoyed and not minding where she was stepping. 

He picked up a rock and threw it at her. “They were all out here for you! They were all here-“ His shoulders went tight, tense, like he was about to sob, but the feeling was tangled up in his fury. “Work.” 

And then – music. A song that burned its way into his soul. Tears froze on his cheeks until he almost couldn’t open his eyes, until each rasping breath became a struggle. 

“Cor.” 

Warmth suffused him, the tears finished falling, he lifted his head. The useless pinion still held in his fingertips. 

Aera stood on the battlefield, dress whipping around her, feet bare on the snow. Her eyes were blue, with hints of green.

She gave him the saddest smile as she stepped forward. 

His breath shuddered through him. It felt like he had been the one to be impaled, that he had fallen and lay where Kincaid did. 

Aera brought a hand to his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek, catching one of his tears. “Cor.”

“It won’t work.” He told her softly, the useless words making him feel more the fool and the coward. 

She caught his hand, lifting it and the pinion into the air and pressing her palm to his, the feather pressed between their wrists. “There are some things even magic cannot put to rights.”

He shook his head. “He had a kid.” 

“I know.” Fingertips to fingertips, and at last the pinion burned. The flame caught in Aera’s dress, though it did not smoke or burn her in any way. Her dress was the fire, and the fire was her dress. 

“Aera.” He drew his hand back, automatically, staring at the new mark burned into. It hurt, but it was so distant to the pain in his heart that he didn’t really notice it. The pinion was gone, burned away, but it had left a mark behind. 

“You can let Ardyn remove the splinter.” She told him, a hint of impishness shining through. “You won’t need it anymore.” 

And then she spread her wings. 

He couldn’t explain it later, how Aera had transformed from the woman he perceived into the bird, but that was what happened. The music rose around him, wringing every tear he had even fought not to cry out of him. The snow burned, the machines burned – armor burned off the soldiers, revealing flesh in some and dissolving. Only one airship made it out of the sky intact, back over the stone. 

The Glacian stepped back, vanishing into a twist of snow clouds.

Around him, the fields bloomed, the smell of it was heady in the air. Flowers burst out of the ground, water carved pathways in the new valley. Trees sprung to life and grew so quickly that he had to move to avoid being pierced by the one that sprung up over Kincaid’s body. 

And Aera stood before him. 

“I…” He stared at her, at a loss for words. 

“I cannot return to life what has moved beyond my grasp.” She told him softly, stepping forward to cradle his face. “He took the blow they meant for you. I hope this small thing serves as a memorial for him.” 

His hands hung useless at his side, he didn’t move to touch her. 

She smiled, though it was sad and heavy. “Cor.” And she pressed her mouth to his, warmth unfurling inside him, banishing some of the hurts he had forgotten about. “Give that to Ardyn for me.”

And then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to my roommate who was the real MVP here by tolerating me asking to borrow her body so I could figure out how some of the physicality looked. You're great, Kel.


	29. Chapter 29

His dreams for once didn't drag him anywhere else, they were formless and nagging impressions. But they were just dreams, his mind trying to make sense of the rawness that surrounded him. The too big Spector of Bahamut, the ancient king’s grief, Aera’s wrist pressed to his, the pinion between them. Kincaid laughing at a story he was telling about his kid. 

Grief was an odd thing, it finally gave him rest, but it left him waking feeling like he had not rested at all. The sky above the gorge was full of stars, cloudless. The ground was honestly too wet to be comfortable yet, even with the salvaged sleeping bag. Men and women roamed – some dressed, others almost nude – nobody had any badges of which army they belonged to, all just clumped together, sharing the fact that they were alive. Shocked, shaken, but alive. 

He had wondered around a bit, trying to get a feel for it. But four hugs in and he’d decided he needed to set up camp somewhere Else. 

He’d forgotten until he woke up with a soggy back that he could access the armiger and retrieve the rubber mats they used for swampy areas. He could have used one of those.

He didn’t, leaning his back against the tree that stood over where Kincaid had fallen. He had seen men die before, good men. But this one….so useless. Such a waste of a good man, for no good reason. Kincaid had been here to help the Glacian, and she had killed him. Perhaps not intentionally, but she had acted without forethought and he had died all the same. How many people who had come to defend the Astral now lay beneath this deceptively beautiful place?

The thought turned his stomach, he curled up a bit, chin on his legs, eyes closed. 

“She has a good touch for this.” A familiar voice said quietly beside him.

He cracked an eye, frowning at the moogle. “Go away.”

The moogle plopped down on his soggy sleeping bag, opening a book on its lap. “Well chosen, I think. I doubt he will think so.”

“This isn’t one of your between places.” He growled. 

The moogle sighed, tapping the book. “Where I appear is a between place.” It snapped its fingers and they were sitting in the library, him in a chair with his hands around a mug of tea and a blanket – or maybe a tapestry – draped around his shoulders. “Is this what you prefer?” 

He stared into the mug. “Is this real?”

“Oh you humans and your subjective reasoning.” The words were fond, almost as a parent might praise macaroni art. “It really is charming.” 

“So…it’s real if I want it to be real.” He sipped the tea, letting the bitter warmth soothe his throat. 

“A simplification, but I think it will adequately cover the concept for now.” The moogle turned a few pages in the book. “The Phoenix is a rare creature. Unlike many of us, it is never bound to one being. It is an anamorphous energy that seeks out like – very commonly the dead – to rise again in the fires of purification. I have not heard one sing in many thousands of years.” 

“So how many of you are there?” He asked, blowing across the surface of the tea. He should shrug out of the blanket, dismiss being treated as a child, but his back hurt and his legs were still soggy. 

“Of me? Personally? Only the one, I am a trans dimensional being, like Etro. If there were more than one of us in the universe – well, safe to say, it would lead to ill tidings.” The moogle shook its head at him. “There are few like us. The others are…Imagine if you were an energy construct, the same energy formed into the same form in different environments. Some things echo more than others.” The moogle held up the book, with a neat section of sketches of a blue woman. “The aspects of Shiva, as a consideration. Not all are our Glacian.”

He stared at the book, too tired to make sense of it. “So Aera is a…Messenger now?”

“As though she was ever anything else. He cannot simply capture a soul and do nothing with it.” The moogle told him calmly. “For him to use them, he must make of them something new. Tie them to his own power. The first Phoenix – my contemporary on this plane – fell as Solheim did, in its defense against the Astrals.” 

“I thought Ifrit destroyed Solheim?” He squeezed the mug, wishing the moogle wasn’t insisting on doing this now. 

“Oh he tried, but his heart wasn’t in it. Then Titan and Bahamut returned for the children and well…their fighting tore the city apart. Shiva and Leviathan joined in, and Ramah last. He ever was a stickler for letting his brothers handle their own disagreements, but when they roused him he became irritated.” The moogle tilted its head to the side. “I do sometimes wonder if Leviathan even knew what the fight was about. She ever was looking for a battle.” 

“None of this helps me.” He groaned.

“Mind yourself. I am telling you something.” The moogle warned. 

“You’re telling me what! How Solheim fell! WE came to save her and she cut us down without a thought!” He stood up, blanket nearly falling off his shoulders, mug sloshing dangerously. “That is what I am worried about! I can’t say a damned word to anyone because the Bladekeeper might be listening and smite me for knowing all of this crap anyway!” 

Maduin stared at him, one ear flicking, pompom bobbling. “Are you quite done?”

He considered, glaring at a white marble sitting on the table next to him. 

“Ah. A good choice if you need to cause some pointless destruction. You cannot shatter it, and it cannot do any good here.” The moogle gestured to it. “Throw it if you wish.”

Except that would make him feel more the child. He sank back down into his chair, glaring at the moogle. 

“May I continue?” Maduin asked. 

“Can I leave if you don’t?” He grumbled. 

“Leaving is always a choice you can make.” The moogle smiled with too many teeth again. “I cannot advise for or against it. As always, the door will lead you out.” 

He sulked, and drank his tea. It was worse than when the Marshal had called him up for reckless behavior as a boy. 

“Now. The Phoenix flies and you wear its mark and mine.” The moogle told him frankly. “It falls to you to make a choice.”

“A choice.” He deadpanned. “When has any of this been my fucking choice!?” He snarled. 

“The moment you looked at a lost staggering man and made the choice to approach him with a blanket rather than a sword.” 

His mouth snapped closed, body hunching over the mug of tea. 

Maduin nodded, as though he had answered some question. “Rest here for a little while. Let your mind and body mend.” 

“I’m no-“ but sleep rose up to claim him, with no more say for him. 

*~*

"you silly man." Ardyn's voice whispered in his ear. "You silly, silly man."

He woke with a crick in his neck, completely soaked and wrapped on a faded tapestry just as Dawn broke. The sun warmed the area and made it more humid than he liked, but the survivors were slow to rise and seemed to still be clingy to those of shared experience. He circled the makeshift camp several times, trying to survey the damage.

It was hard to judge how many lives had been lost. Most were fair haired, and uniforms had been salvaged on all sides.

Maybe it didn't make a difference in the end. Maybe the resistance would absorb the soldiers here and all - altered by the battle with the Glacian - would go on to do something else.

It was hard not to speculate. He could feel the day before weighing on him even now, an unfamiliar ache in his chest.

"So what does it look like?" He asked Callux quietly when he found the man. He had several other young men around him.

"Bad. I mean. It could be worse. It could still be snowing. No injuries, either." There was a tired attempt at a smile, stretching new scar tissue on his face.

"Yeah. Any sign of that kid?"

Callux shook his head. "as soon as the Glacian showed up they sedated her and fled with her. Probably what the rest of us should have been doin'. Wager is that she was bait."

"Bait?" He echoed. "How so?"

"Well, as I heard from a few of the Nifs as made it, she was one of the survivors." He paused as though that should be signifgant.

He stared at the man blankly.

"Oh for the love of - they been using the Infernian to make soldiers, follow? Most what they inject with it have a shelf life of a few weeks before their tissue deteriorated. Bethesia is furious about it, been getting more and more grabby at any prisoners too. Said he even started injecting pregnant women and infants. That girl's been blooded for almost four years. Longest survival time. There's a boy too, but they ain't seen him."

He frowned. "'Blooded' meaning she has... Ifrit's blood?" He asked.

"Yessir. Quite the thing, so I hear. Listening to some of the boys it sounds like they were all scared for their lives. Well. They're ours now."

He blinked. "I apologize, did I hear you correctly?"

Callux nodded sharply. "Yessir. These men don't belong anywhere. They were made to fight in a war they knew nothing about. So they're ours now. Sir. We lost enough folk."

He held up his hands. "Understood. That - I will not mention it in my report." 

Callux nodded. "Thank you, sir. They'll appreciate that."

He nodded, standing up. “You know Kincaid’s family?”

“Like my own, sir.” There was pain there. “I’ll let them know as it went down.”

“He saved my life.” He told Callux, quiet. “It won’t change things. But…tell them that. I owe them.” 

“Yessir.” His eyes were a bit shiny, but Callux nodded. “I’ll make sure an’ tell em that.”


	30. Chapter 30

The stone beneath the ice was crystal, though the thick loamy earth hid most of it from view. He wondered what it looked like from above, this place that had once been covered with ice and snow. Had Shiva’s presence turned the stones beneath to crystal? Or had she sought out a place that was enriched by the presence of them already?

He didn’t particularly care, but he rather thought he would be asked. 

He was more interested in the soldiers, and recovering them as much as he possibly could. Could they put a power station out here? Use the crystal to generate power like Lestallum? Or was that only possible with the shards of Titan’s meteor? 

He should ask, or have Regis ask. Surely there was something to the vast expanse of star stuff beneath him. 

He returned to his solitary camp that day worn out, reaching into the Armiger for a rubber mat to lay on.

He got a fishing rod instead. 

He stood looking down at it, confused and a little bit alarmed. Was he that tired? Had he accidentally been thinking of Regis? 

He had never in his life dragged something unintentional from the royal space, not since he’d been granted access. 

His sword was laying down where he had sat it, next to the small gear bag he kept on his person.

He let go of the fishing poll, and it vanished back into the space, then pushed again, imagining the rubber mat and his bedroll and nothing else.

A clatter of pots and pans fell around him, startling him nearly into a puddle. 

They fell, and vanished, as though they realized they had been mistakenly summoned. 

The hell was happening? 

He decided to try one more time, thinking of a radio rather than the mat. Something fell, and broke, and a flush of heat brushed against his face before someone stood before him – the heat parting to either side. 

“It seems that door is a fickle one.” Aera said softly. 

“Yeah.” He said, shaken. “That was a magic flask.”

“Indeed.” She turned to face him, lacing their hands together. “The ring is not yours.” 

His eyes widened, hand tightening on hers. 

She nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Tread carefully, Cor.” 

“I will. I guess I’m sleeping on the wet ground again.” And packing what he needed from now on, aside from a few emergency restoratives and a change of clothes. 

“Home soon, though. At least.” She caressed the back of his hand. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” He met her gaze, her eyes shifting from a deep blue to a sharp green to an orange that burned almost black at its core. “This suits you.”

She wore no longer the white of the oracle, but a skirt that mirrored her eyes, shifting and flickering between the colors. As though her otherself waited only for wings to unfurl, like the stretching of an arm.

She caressed her mark on his wrist and was gone. 

He settled on the still damp mat, picking up the tapestry he had woken up in, brushing his fingers against the fine weave. It was folded several times, but he could see what looked like Maduin’s other face gazing back at him from the fold.   
*~*

Ardyn folded him into his arms the moment he stepped off the train.

He sighed and buried his face deeply in his neck for a moment, inhaling the scent of him.

They said nothing, grounding each other in their presence. It was the sort of magic hw had gotten used to, warm and playful, wrapping around him.

Ardyn cradled the back of his head. "We have much to discuss. The council has questions first." Fingers danced over his arm and the new mark on his wrist.

He nodded, still leaning in. "I know. The council...yeah."

Ardyn's arm tightened smoothly. "You can claim fatigue?"

"Considering they are already asking how soon they might be able to visit and soak in the hot springs? Entirely unlikely. Any sightings?"

"Oh everyone thinks they have seen something." Ardyn stepped back. "But no one has any proof. I think. It shall take some time to sort rice from weed. The excitement may ease and only the creditable will be told."

"Or the more outlandish. How are the tides?"

"Rising, as I am told. Regis spoke to Swann. Which is something he intends to speak to you about."

That he did not much like. He paused to stare at him.

"I liked her." Ardyn said, feigning ignorance.

"Hm." He kept going, adjusting the bag he had slung over his shoulder. With the Armiger acting odd, he knew better than to trust it with the tapestry or anything of particular value to him. So his sword, the gear he had scrounged, and the tapestry traveled with him. It was heavier than he liked to travel, but he would rather be sure of his gear than risk the Astral’s temper. It was funny, until it started acting oddly he had never thought about where the things they stored in the Armiger went. Into the Armiger had been the answer he had always given. But now he wondered just what happened to the things when they let go. 

"I have some to talk about - and to show." What he could show and could tell. But he assumed the tapestry was safe enough. Maduin would not have sent him back with it wrapped around his shoulders if it wasn’t, and maybe it would help him explain Aera. 

How the hell was he going to explain Aera to Ardyn? 

Fuck this was going to be difficult. 

“A few of your mysterious behaviors unraveled?” Ardyn teased, opening the car door for him. “Your carriage, Sir.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’ll see. It might end up with more questions than answers.”


	31. Chapter 31

Regis had a kid, and another kid on the way. He had proudly shown him the picture Swann had sent of the toddler, with her wild dark hair and brown eyes. Aulea didn’t look exactly happy about it, but she was working on making peace with it. 

“So what is that going to look like when it comes time for one of them to take over?” He asked, curious, setting back and picking up his beer. 

Regis shrugged. “The crystal decides, more or less. I am not concerned about it. Swann wishes to raise the girl in Galahd but they will visit often, so that she and any siblings she might have will have a tie. 

“I’ve spoken to her already.” Aulea commented with a wry grin, leaning against her husband on the couch. “I think if nothing else we might enjoy sharing stories about the king and his retinue.” 

He snorted. “You brought this one on yourself.” He shook his head at Regis, who looked mildly panicked at the thought.

“She’s going to come to the city for my last trimester. Once the doctor’s clear me.” Aulea stated, as though there was no reason to question. “She’s a child of her own, and Laelia had one, so they can help me through the process. Sylva has also promised her attendance.” Her hand crept lower, resting on her still flat belly. “Though I think I abuse Ardyn, checking on the babe so often.”

“I would not dream of protesting, Queen Aulea. We all want the little prince or princess to arrive safely.” Ardyn smiled at her, clearly not bothered. “Now, perhaps we have caught him up on all the gossip he missed, he can share what it is he found besides an Astral.”

He sighed, unfolding himself from the couch and picking up the bag from where he had set it. “There are ruins there. I do not know if they are from Solheim or something earlier. We explored some of them, the ice preserved them better than anything I have ever seen. Some were built of crystal, or the stone and wood has crystalized with the Astral laying there.”

He shook out the faded tapestry, spreading it over the floor as smoothly as he could. 

Regis leaned forward, curious, and everyone else followed him. 

“So, what is it we are looking at?” Ardyn asked mildly. 

“The seven, and the Messengers.” 

“Blasphemy. Sylva, are you going to allow your boyfriend to get away with that?” Clarus snorted, clearly amused. “Seven? Who is the Seventh?” 

Sylva raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, eyes skimming the tapestry. “This predates the need for the Oracle. There may well have once been seven.” 

“Eos, is the answer.” Ardyn commented, wry, voice dry. 

Regis turned towards him, questioning, but Ardyn did not answer, still studying it.

“Most works that predate the Astral war depict them thusly.” Laelia noted, reaching to stroke the edge of it. “I have never seen cloth so well preserved. It must been ten thousand years old at least. And who are the messengers? We know none of their names, and so many fell in the war there may be less than we thought.”

Ardyn turned to look at him. “If they died, it is likely the mantel might pass to another. A soul compatible with the spirit of the god they served.” There was a question there.

His hand dropped to his wrist, rubbing Aera’s mark. “In the time between, it is hard to know which has been replaced and which is still out there. The Astrals fell asleep. Save Bahamut.” 

“Save Bahamut.” Ardyn echoed, still staring at him.

“It might be worthwhile to send a research team.” Regis looked at Sylva. “They’re your lands, technically. What say you, oh Queen?”

“That this has the feeling of danger about it, though I cannot know from where.” Sylva looked unhappy and mildly unsettled. 

Ardyn reached for her hand, giving a little squeeze. 

He watched them, watching Sylva particularly. The Oracle had been called by Bahamut. Like the ring, Bahamut would try to use Sylva to stop anything that they might find out. 

But he had started something here today, and he wasn’t sure anything could stop it. 

*~*

If Regis made another circuit, he was privately sure that Clarus was going to sedate him.

The king looked even more the prince right now, shredding his thumb nail and trying to glare a hole through the door.

He tried not to sigh too loudly, watching the pair of them. Excitement and tension and Caelums did not mix well. Ardyn was in the room with Sylva and Swann, but the rest of the men had been regulated to the outer chamber. 

Swann appeared at the door, holding a swaddled object in her arms, tired smile on her face. "Your Majesty?"

Regis was on her feet and next to her a near heart beat later, Clarus laughed softly, muttering something about practicing with paper balls.

"A boy. The queen is still being tended, but she ordered me to bring your son to you." Swann laughed. “It was all I could do to get Ardyn to release him, though. He has looked them both over and declared them healthy. He says he needs another few moments with Aulea but once he is done everyone can come in.” 

Regis made a little gasping sound - not unlike the fish he enjoyed drawing from the water - and lifted the babe into his arms.

Clarus croweded in, curious. "ah, thank goodness. He looks like Auela."

Regis made an offended sound, lifting his son up to his face. "He has my nose."

"But her fine features, so it does not stand out so much." Clarus touched the babe. "Let me hold him."

"You will have your turn, fiend." Regis turned his back, still peering down at his son. Entirely besotted.

Swann just laughed. “I’ll come get you when he’s deemed her healthy. He will need to be nursed.” 

"Apologies for the pair of them. We will make certain they do not start a fight." He put in smoothly, leaving his post against the wall behind him to make certain neither of the idiots started an actual fight over the newborn. "Can we know his name yet?"

"Noctis." Regis said, smiling. "We decided that his name will be Noctis."

"Something brighter than that, surely?" Clarus grumbled, contenting himself with leaning over Regis's shoulder to gaze adoringly on the prince.

"A fine name." He looked pointedly at Clarus who returned to playing with the blanket and making absurd faces at him.

“You can come in now.” Sylva told them, pointedly gazing at the infant. “His mother wants him, and if Ardyn doesn’t lay eyes on him again soon I fear we might have a revolution on our hands.”

Regis laughed, carrying his son into the birthing chamber, moving to his wife first. 

Aulea was sleepy, but readily complaint with the kisses and adoration of her husband, touching the baby Noctis fondly. “He’s perfect.”

Clarus snorted.

Laelia hit him, a sharp, quick blow that seemed to take the wind out of his sails. “Not the time.”

Clarus grumbled, but subsided obediently. 

Ardyn stepped forward, lingering close to the pair the two younger Caelums made. What must it be like, he wondered, to see a child born so many times descended from himself? He could barely imagine it, but Ardyn was clearly more excited than anything else at the moment. 

Gladio was a delight, and Ardyn loved Luna and Alessa more than life, he was equally happy to play with Cindy whenever he saw the little girl, or Crowe who was an active little thing. But it was clear that Ardyn felt he had some claim on Noctis. The babe was his blood after all. A royal prince, but a Caelum too. Which was a far older and odder thing than the Lucian throne.

Regis yielded the babe after a few more moments, clearly loathe to, but knowing Ardyn well enough to know that there were limits to his patience.

"Lovely lad." Ardyn murmured, cuddling the baby close to his chest. "Welcome to us. May the Dawn always shine brightly on your life."

The baby gave a small whine in response, and Ardyn, clearly no less besotted than Regis, bent his head and pressed a kiss to his brow before giving him back to his mother. 

The mark on his arm warmed, though he didn’t need it to feel the power in the moment. The Astrals stirred, even now, the Messengers walked about. The seas roses and the Nifs were building an army out of stolen flesh. But in this moment, this very special moment, amid all those omens. There was only the child.


	32. Chapter 32

“He will fight you for that child, his sacrifice.” 

The darkness around him was heavy, pressing him inward, immovable and unescapable. 

“No.”

“Yes.” The voice echoed at him from all sides. “So ends the line of Lucis. Of Caelum.”

“No.” He denied again, swiping at the darkness. “Ardyn lives, Crowe lives. Noctis is but another in the line!” 

“So ends the Lucian line.” The voice repeated, deep and coming from every side of him.

“You’ll come through me, then.” He snarled. 

The voice said nothing more, the darkness pushed at him, tumbling him around until he could not be sure which way was up. Confused and stumbling he staggered into- light, bright and harsh – not at all reassuring. 

The walls were a cold white, and the room stunk of chemicals. 

Cages surrounded the area, holding creatures made up of awkward angles that he only belatedly realized were children. Strange children, twisted and wrong. With claws and wings and malformed faces. Most sat still in their cages, watching the room around them with caution.

Two lay on the ground, reaching as far as both could manage to connect at the fingertips, both children panting softly, skin holding the sheen of sweat. He stared at them, horrified by their condition. 

The room was cold. Very cold. But both children were sweating. He thought, at least. 

It was only after watching them scrabble for more contact that he realized what was really happening. The room was so cold that frost was forming on their bodies, and they burned so hot that it melted and refroze on their skin constantly. 

The boy hooked a finger through the girls, and both children relaxed somewhat. “My arms aren’t long enough, Are.” 

“S’ok, Rav. S’ok.”

He looked closer at the boy, tracing the scaled features, trying to find something familiar there. Pale, silvery hair hung in chunks off his head, raw scabs proving that some of it had been ripped out.

“Ravus.” He whispered.

Both children turned, looking at him.

He tensed, until he realized they were looking past him. There was a wail, a displeased cry. A babe protesting some indignity. 

Ravus looked unhappy, flattening further against the floor of his cage. “He gots another one.”

The girl – Are – was alert and staring at the door, seemingly listening for something. “He’ll be ok. He’s tough.”

Ravus didn’t look any happier about that. 

He took a step towards the door, peering through. Watching the man clean an infant who seemed to have been drawn from a tank. The boy whined and kicked, but the man ignored him entirely, pinching him and taking blood tests that set off another round of crying. 

“Shhh.” He whispered, stepping close. “Shhhh.”

Blue eyes caught his, tiny face puckering, and some force – angry, furious, and read to fight – hooked in his mind. 

It jerked him to and fro for a moment, like a dog with a pillow, leaving him shaken and crouched on the floor before something.

A hand touched his face, lifting it carefully. “You are not his.”

“No-I.” He couldn’t see anything, and that made the looming presence more unnerving.

The growl shuddered through the darkness, it gave him another rough shake. “He will not have them.”

The bellow shook him awake, and he lay perfectly still in his bed, staring up at the ceiling of his room in shock. 

 

~*~

Ardyn slid arms around his waist from behind, chin settling on his shoulder. 

They stood in silence that way for a while, watching the dawn. He had considered getting a cup of coffee – something to banish the chill from his bones – but he hadn’t. It was only late October, but the air had a chill in it that he didn’t like. It would be a bad winter. It would be a hard winter. 

Ardyn’s presence at his back brought him back to himself, to this moment, not the leagues away his mind had traveled. To the children shivering and reaching for each other in the lab. To the voice in the dark.

Ardyn rubbed his chin against his shoulder with a soft sigh. “IT must have been a bad dream if it woke you, my dear.”

“I don’t know if I ever have good dreams anymore.” He confessed, leaning back into Ardyn, letting his prince absorb his weight. “I have a message for you, you know.”

“Do you now? From your dream?” Ardyn asked, arms tightening gently around his waist. “I have a phone you know. I wish they would simply call me if they needed to reach me.”

He snorted. “I think if they could call you, they would. But it’s not like you ever turn it on.”

Ardyn huffed an offended breath. “I turn it on at least once a day. Its buzzing irritates me, once it rang as Alessa, Luna and I were baking. Quite upsetting for both of my girls.”

He laughed softly. “I am sure they were quite upset. Luna likes to talk on the phone.”

“Luna likes to “conduct business” on the phone.” Ardyn said loftily. “Which normally involves ordering at least a thousand cakes and as many flowers from the stores that sell such things. She will be an excellent city planner someday.”

“But right now she’s three and thinks the world runs on berry tarts?” He turned in Ardyn’s arms, leaning against the rail, hand resting on his forearm to prevent him from thinking that he was pulling away.

“I did say some day. But mostly she mimics her mother.” Concerned amber eyes studied him. “Who sent me a message?” 

He took a breath to admit what had happened in the gorge, but the words caught in his throat. “See if you can guess.” He leaned forward, trying to remember just how Aera had kissed him. He needn’t have bothered, as soon as their lips touched it felt like his body was burning, his hand lifted. The kiss was hungry, it was messy – it was two thousand years’ worth of denial and desire, of loss and longing. All in a kiss with him as the conduit. 

He fell back with a whimper when it released him, and Ardyn’s grip steadied him, tears cascading down the other man’s cheeks. Ardyn pressed another gentler kiss to his forehead, pulling him into a tight hug.

They stood there wordless, arms around each other, not quite sure which was supporting who. 

“You are walking a very dangerous road, my friend.” Ardyn whispered after what felt like hours had passed. “I do not know if it is because of me, or if I am able because of you. But I am glad we walk it together.”

“I wish I could tell you everything.” He murmured, throat tight. 

“Words are words. So many of them lies.” The hand on his back tightened. “I know we are on the same side, and so I trust your silence.”

He nodded, pressing his forehead against the other man’s throat. “Something bad happened last night. I saw….” He hesitated. “They are using him, Ardyn. I saw him, just for a moment. In a room full of others.”

Ardyn hissed, not needing guidance to arrive just where his understanding was meant to be. “I will kill him some day, if Ifrit does not manage it first.”

He had been taught all his life that the Infernian had tried to destroy mankind, to hear Ardyn speak so openly as though they were allies with the creature settled oddly in his chest, tightening his stomach into knots. 

But he relished it, just wishing that he could share all that he knew, rather than the tiny bits he felt were safe enough to share.

Maduin’s warning closed off so much. 

*~*

He knew something was following him, but he only heard four feet. Not a whole pack of anything. Not as heavy as something dangerous on its own would be. 

He stooped down to check tracks, listening to whatever it was come a little bit closer before whirling, sword drawn.

The creature stopped, long ears flattening against its head. It looked like a hornless unicorn. But it was bridled and saddled almost like a chocobo.

It made a noise that his mind translated into questioning and took several slow steps forward, flat feet plodding dully against the ground. It was a pale color, with dark eyes and a darker, stringer tail that matched the hair that went down its neck.

It had no natural armor, not even on its long legs. Instead it wore scarred, ancient looking tack that seemed intending to mimic the barding a chocobo wore when it hunted. 

Another questioning noise, it was almost in arms reach.

He started to take a step back, and then decided he would just wait to see what it did. It pushed forward, butting its head against the hand holding the sword with a relieved sounding whoosh of air. Then it butted its head against his chest, again mimicking what a chocobo might do to a favorite rider in search of treats. 

“What the hell are you?” He asked it, watching the ears flick to the sound of his voice and taking hold of the bridle. It went in the creatures’ mouth, which seemed unkind and unusual. Chocobo bridles were fit around the beak so that the birds could be rewarded. 

The animal lipped his forehead, rough tongue scraping at his skin.

“Easy.” He pulled down on the bridle and got an armful of head as it decided to push its head against his chest again. 

“Hey, what gives?” He sheathed the sword, and the nohorn nuzzled his belt with another long woof of air. 

Pleased. The animal was pleased.

“Did that belong to someone you knew?” Who or what had it before Gilgamesh did? How was this creature still alive to follow it?  
Another shove of the head, tucking under his arm, tail flicking behind it. Then it turned and offered him its shoulder, feet stamping impatiently as though it was eager to be off. 

How did one ride a nohorn, four legged beast? 

It stamped its foot again.

He considered it, and then considered the mind numbing boredom of a standard patrol.

If he fell off and broke his leg he might be able to leave early. 

He set his foot into the stirrup – it was enough like a Chocobo saddle that he could more or less guess how it worked – gripping the top of the saddle as hard as he could until he got his leg over and secure. 

He took the reins loosely, catching the nohorn watching him over his shoulder. “Look. I’ve never even seen something like you before, much less ridden anything. Give me a break.”

The beast snorted and tossed its head. He had the sudden feeling it was laughing at him. 

He touched it lightly with his knees, tugging the head lightly in the direction of basecamp.

The horse accepted the direction, took a single easy step, and they were there.

It made another noise that sounded a lot like laughter.


	33. Chapter 33

Tobin would never be as tall or broad as Clarus was. Early malnutrition had stunted an already slight frame.

He could fight, but he wanted so desperately to fight like his father - like an Amicitia that he kept hurting himself.

At eleven he has a freckly face, fair skin – not uncommon in Lucis – bright green eyes and red curls that had been adorable when he had first arrived, but now frustrated the boy to no end. Laelia wouldn’t let Clarus cut it short, so the boy wore it hidden under a scarf. He looked a bit like a pirate, all awkward ankles and constantly bruised from overdoing it. His sisters both had dark hair and eyes, and so blended with Gladio and Clarus almost seamlessly. 

For a child who wanted nothing more than to look exactly like his father, it was a difficult challenge. Lasha had leaned into it, used energy whips that Cid had made her for her birthday – used them damned well too. Tobin struggled. 

He wasn’t sure what Clarus wanted him to teach the boy. He was as stubborn as any trueborn son of his house. 

“Come here, Cor. We’ll put on a bit of a display.” Clarus had shrugged off the heavy council robes, stepping into the center of the ring and hefting his sword. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Clarus winked at his elder son. “He thinks he has one up on me.”

“I’m faster than you are, and while you’ve been sitting on your ass thinking deep thoughts I’ve been out there fighting monsters in Solheim jails.” Aera’s best guess at why the giant beasts were trapped so deep, anyway. 

“Bah. Come on.”

Tobin was smiling a bit, crossing his arms. 

He sighed and shrugged at the boy. “Well, just don’t complain that I didn’t warn your old man.” 

“Why don’t you draw your sword and say that with steel?” Clarus taunted.

He rested his hand lightly on the pommel, adjusting his stance. “I only need one strike, Clarus.” 

Clarus grinned and charged at him.

He sidestepped, watching his movement, circling the entire ring in the time it took him to charge up two strikes. 

He would never be as heavy a fighter as Clarus. He could hit hard, but he had always relied on hitting fast. 

Their weaknesses complimented each other’s strengths. Always. 

Clarus charged him again and he went under it, and finally drew his sword. Meeting Clarus and redirecting his energy downward, wresting the sword from his fingers. 

“See?” Clarus said, popping up. “I told you. Fight like your uncle. You’ll be tall like him, but you’ll be faster.”

Tobin looked fascinated, gazing at him with wide eyes, scarf slightly askew to let some of the curls fall.

“Lasha is fast, and you’ll be fast just like your mom.” Clarus cradled the boy’s shoulders. 

Trust Clarus to come up with a plan that required someone kicking his ass first, he shook his head slightly, listening to Clarus extol the virtues of being a fast fighter as though he hadn’t used to complain about Cor needing more muscle on his bones to fight well.  
*~*

 

He found himself wondering ruins at the behest of the king, often with Aera at his side. They sought some answer. An answer he was absolutely sure was held more in Maduin's library than any ruin. The ruins held the souls of things long dead and little else. But getting Maduin to reveal anything was a problem in and of itself, he could share what he found in the ruins. Not what he found in the library. So the ruins it was, for lack of anything better to guide them.

Ardyn stayed in the city. Which was a loss, he missed his presence, even if there was very little that was an actual threat to him on the ruins. But as Sylva and Aulea both waxed great with pregnancy, he worried at leaving them. Cor worried more about missing the birth.

Which was what ended up happening anyway. He was knee deep in the sludge of an ancient keep when he heard Ardyn's voice, felt excitement and fear roil over him so much that he dropped the torch and swore.

Aera, who had been standing with her arms extended, wings half unfurled from her other self to light the carvings, laughed at him. She picked up the torch and relit it. "They come?"

"I imagine one or the other must be on their way if he is that keyed up. Can we leave at the moment?"

Aera cocked her head, appearing yo listen for a moment. "It is day above us. Likely not. Can he hear you in return?'

"Not that we're aware of, and my phone won't work this deep on the ruins."

Aera nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps Skip?"

For lack of a better option, he had named the creature - Maduin had called it a horse and seemed impressed, though he moogle would not explain where the beast or sword had come from - after what appeared to be its purpose, shortening the length of travel. "I'm terrible at calling him." Or any of the three souls bound to him, really. The moogle showed up whenever it damned pleased, and Aera showed up whenever there was no one around to see her. He thought she probably could manifest wherever she damned pleased, but as of yet she had chosen on her own way to deny contact.

"I told you, it is simple." She looked mischievous.

"Are you going to kiss me again?" He demanded.

She laughed, lifted her fingers to her lips and whistled.

A moment later he heard heavy footfalls making their way through the muck.

"He never comes when I whistle. I thought he was bound to me?" He grumbled, stroking arms down the clearly displeased horse's neck. 

"Perhaps he likes me better." Aera pulled a sugar lump from a pocket he was sure she didn't have and offered it to the beast.

Skip took it delicately, crushing at it - it was an unnerving sound. He could never make himself get that near the mouth.

"Well, you bribe him." He slid his foot into the stirrup and swung himself over. "Are you going to keep looking?"

Aera gave a half shrug in response. "Mayhaps. Mayhaps I will visit some other ruin. Direct him to bring you back to me and he can." She smiled. "Now go welcome the children. What an ill omen, should their godfather not attend." She gave the horse a fond shove.

"You could come with me, you know." He told her, feeling Skip's impatience through the reins. 

She smiled at him, but only moved away.

Ghosts were a peculiar lot. Or else Aera was. He touched his heels to Skip's side, and a moment later they stood in the hall outside the birthing chamber.

The guards shouted, some getting as far as weapons drawn before they recognized him.

"You're getting more dramatic in your old age." Clarus teased. "I heard a cry a moment ago. Perhaps you can strong arm your way in to see them?"

Clarus had clearly been left on charge of the children, which was as always one of those ideas that were best termed "chaotic". Luna, Oliva and Crowe were drawing dramatic eyebrows on Gladio, while Alessa was telling Noctis about being a big brother. Lasha and Tobin were probably dealing with their own lessons. 

They seemed happy enough, Alessa popping up and trotting over to him - he thought for a hug, but she threw her arms around Skip's face and kissed his nose.

"Nice to know where I rank." He teased the little girl.

"You know I love you Papa Cor." Alessa told him loftily. "Skip doesn't yet. So I have to tell him every time I see him." She scratched Skip's chin, crooning over him.

The guard looked a little uneasy with the Messenger standing there, but they had settled back into guard positions.

The door opened and Laelia poked her head out, looking relieved when she spotted him. She looked exhausted, but pleased. "You're late."

"They weren't due until next week." He stepped towards her. She eyed his boots. 

He sighed and stripped them off, leaving them at the door. "Better?"

She huffed. "Wash your hands before you touch them."

"Yes, mother." He followed her into the room. Aulea and Sylva were separated by a heavy curtain. Regis was sitting on the bed next to his wife, Swann had Aulea's head in her lap. The baby was cradled in her mother's arms, but even as he watched Swann leaned down to kiss the queen, stroking her face gently 

He had decided long ago not to ask. The two women had settled amiably whatever their arrangement was, and despite appearing mildly baffled Regis was happy, and the kids were happy and that was all that mattered.

Ardyn was perched next to Sylva, baby cradled tenderly in his arms. 

He moved to join them. "The timing of this leaves much to be desired." He teased gently, taking Sylva's hand. "I am glad to see you well, my queen."

"As if I could be anything but with Ardyn hovering." She smiled warmly. "I tried to wait until you returned, but she simply was done with waiting."

"I understand. I came as quickly as I could manage."

"That explains the cries of alarm in the hall outside." Ardyn looked amused. "Has Alessa made it to the saddle yet?"

"Only to his face so she can tell him she loves him." He sat gingerly on the bed next to Sylva. "How is she?"

"Beautiful and healthy. Aeran came but a few moments before Stella joined us." Ardyn said softly, gazing down at the babe in his arms.

"She only cried once." Sylva told him fondly. "Then Ardyn had her and was pressing her into my arms to birth Stella. I think Ardyn worked nearly as hard as we did to deliver them. Aulea bled quite a lot and Stella was not breathing." Her voice was light and easy, but he knew what she meant.

If not for Ardyn, one or both would have likely died today.

"But everyone made it through." Ardyn said quietly, gazing down at his newborn daughter. There could be no mistake with this one. No question. "I think perhaps she has the right idea. It seems a wonderful time to nap."

Sylva patted the bed next to her. "They have changed the linens and dressed me, love. Come lay here beside me."

"I'll shower and come back to join you. I have been dusting off centuries of Solheim dust, and I fear I brought some of it back with."

Sylva squeezed his hand. "Do not leave us to wait for long, Cor. I know we will sleep better with you here."

He kissed her hand, and reached over her to clasp Ardyn's. "I will be quick."

*~*

 

He woke to a slight weight above him and fingers pressed to his lips. 

Ardyn gasped softly next to him, hand almost to Aera's arm before she shook her head at him, eyes sad. "She comes. Obera, the Typhoon. You must get the children."

"Why?" Ardyn sounded confused, fingers still hovering just above her wrist.

"I would burn you, and I do not wish to." Aera looked even more regretful.

"You weigh nothing, but I need you to move if you want me to do anything at all." he informed her, breaking the moment.

That explained why she had been avoiding Ardyn. Not being able to touch him at all was an agony for both of them. "Just our children?"

She shook her head. "Leviathan has ever been his servant. He will aim for any Ardyn has helped."

Shit. That meant Lasha and her siblings - he scrambled for his phone, dialing. "Clarus. Lasha, the boys, and Olivia get them out of the house. Now. Get to the citadel. Make sure Swann and Crowe are there." 

Clarus made a sputtering noise in his ear, but he hung up before anything was said. Lasha had started guard training, and she might be at the barracks. 

"Sir?" She answered on the second ring.

"I've never been sir before, Lasha." He couldn't pass on the opportunity to tease her. "Where are you?" He strapped on his sword as he moved to the door, meeting a cranky Alessa at the door.

She whined up at him, and he gave her a nudge towards Ardyn, who was still sitting on the bed, watching Aera.

"At the barracks, Uncle Cor." Lasha answered. "What's wrong? Why is Lessa crying? Did something happen?"

"I'll explain everything later. Do you trust your roommate?"

A pause. "I just moved in."

"I want you to go to the Citadel, then. Wake the king. Get the prince and princesses in the same room with Regis and Aulea. Your dad will be there soon."

"Yes uncle."

"And stay away from the water." He hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket. "Will she attack Ardyn directly?" He asked, lifting Aeran from her bed and waking Luna from her cot.

The nurse roused, staring up at him with glowing blue eyes.

He swore, dropping Luna's hand and pushing the toddler behind him, and dropped his hand to his sword.

"Wait." Aera caught his wrist. "Gentiana?"

The woman unfolded from her chair, hands folded over her stomach. "This one guards only the Oracle."

"The Oracle has sisters and siblings." He snapped, then said more gently to the girl. "Go to mama and papa Ardyn, sweetling. I will be behind you in a moment."

"Obera comes." Gentiana said gently. "The phoenix cannot touch the child, but this one will keep her safe."

He looked at Aera, who nodded slightly.

"She is the Glacian's, not Bahamut. The glacian is her own."

"She killed my friend." He stared hard at Gentiana, there were nights he still woke from dreams of Kincaid gasping on his own blood, drowning, dying. Fading away. 

"The Bladekeeper aimed for you." No inflection, no whisper of anything she felt.

His throat tightened, but he stepped forward and placed baby Aeran in her arms. "If anything happens to her, you are top of my list. Any of them. Prove your worth."

The woman took the babe gently in her arms and gave a slight bow. "So it will be."

*~*

Aera was running slightly to keep up with him. "Where are you going?"

"Refugee sector. I can rouse the Citadel to keep Regis safe, but nobody gives a half chewed lump of fat about refugees. If it's going to target what Ardyn has helped-"

He cut off, staring at the water lapping at the bottom of the stairs and the utter silence surrounding them. From, he drew his sword lept down into the water.

Aera made a little distressed noise, but a moment later she was in the air, her song spilling over the area.

It roused people quickly enough, there were shouts and cries and some splashing about. At least not everything in the area was dead.

He passed the first eatery corpse less than a block in, and from there on he saw more that were dead than alive, rounding the corner to see a woman leaning over a struggling person, humming to herself a soft counter to Aera's song.

He moved before he thought, and she fell back with a scream, mouth open wide to display a jaw full of sharp teeth. He hauled the young man from under the water, giving him a rough shake until he coughed. "Get everyone out of this sector. Go."

The lad - nearly drowned or not - seemed to understand how serious the situation was and ran.

The fish woman hissed at him, lifting up on her powerful tail. "You."

The word rushed over him, too many extra syllables making him sure he heard it some other way than proper hearing. "Me." He lifted the sword, and the messenger lifted her arms, water sucking away from his feet, debris going with it. 

Forming a wave above her.

"Oh hell." He snarled and braced himself for the impact.

There had been no time to do anything but grab his sword, which was bad. But good, probably, because bare feet couldn't be filled with water and drag him down and the light clothes he wore to bed might tear easily, but they couldn't hold him down 

The sword in his hand went hot, and he swung it automatically.

The water parted around him.

The fish woman stare, seemingly just as caught oof guard by this development as he was.

"You can cut through water?" He yelled at the sword. "Fucking moogle never tells me anything. Fine. Let's do this, then! I want to go back to bed!"

The woman stared at him, bulbous fish eyes expressionless. "No matter. I will kill you and have the traitor’s sword."

He tightened his grip on it and swung it again. The sword sent out light and air, hot and powerful. He laughed. 

He could do this. He could do this. He fell into a stance, building power down his arm. This he knew. This was magic, not calling Messengers to do his work for. This was magic and a sword. He could do magic and a sword. It was practically what he was bred for.

The fish woman came towards him with a shriek - he sidestepped, swung again, and heard her scream as blood filled the water around them.

She writhed and the water rose around her, towering far above their heads. He adjusted his stance again, prepared to strike again. But the water fell outward, not inward.

She was going to drown the city. He attacked, but she was laughing and already fading away.

"Aera!" Another wave slammed down on his head, he swung the sword but his head hit something hard, light filled his gaze and he knew nothing more.


	34. Chapter 34

Hands pressing on his chest and a mouth locked on his, breathing and exhaling for him.

Pause.

Hands again, breathe forcing its way down his throat.

Pause.

Hands. Breath. Thoughts muddy in his head. Was this what death felt like? Was that what dying was? 

Hands. Breath. Swearing.

"He's breathing. You can stop." Other hands, lighter on his chest. Pressing down.

"He won't wake." Ardyn's voice was ragged, terrified.

"The ocean just made a very concerted effort to drown him." Another voice said quietly above him. "As well as the whole of Lucis. I imagine there will be repercussions. He just killed a high messenger. The first since the war. There was a time for quiet, and it has now passed."

"Fucking never tell me anything." he growled, or tried. It came out more as coughing. 

"What did he say?" Ardyn asked, hands smoothing down his neck. 

"Probably cursing me. I did keep him rather in the dark until now." Maduin did not sound at all apologetic.

“What happens to Lucis now?” Aera asked, just as soft. 

“Cor killed a high messenger. You may not know it yet, girl. But that magic leaves a stain. As I predicted, as I moved, she moved, as he moved, we moved. All within Lucis shall remain as it is in this moment. Nothing shall enter, nothing shall leave. Bahamut is trapped.”

“The children.” Ardyn whispered, voice ragged. 

“They will be well, they will wake when my spell ends with no memory of what occurred. No time for them will have, pay attention Adagium.” 

Ardyn drew a frustrated, angry breath. “And Regis? Sylva? The Oracle is down there as well!” 

“The Oracle is the most important piece to remove from the field, should we wish to unseat Bahamut.”

“What about Uncle Cor?” Lasha’s voice was soft. “Will he be ok?” 

“Yes. After a fashion, he is immortal after all.” Maduin sounded amused. “Calm down, Adagium. Do not glare at me in such a way. Cor is a very important piece of what is to come, I shall not kill him now.” 

Ardyn’s hands tightened protectively on his shoulders. “Nothing will change.”

“Nothing. Not a hair on their heads. I give you my word as high messenger of the Infernian. The game board is set, now we need only play.”

“I think.” Ardyn’s voice faltered, hands running over his face. “I think I need you, Cor. Please wake up.”

He cracked an eye, muzzy and tasting salt. It was the most effort he could expend at the moment. 

Ardyn let out a relived breath, wrapping his arms around him. “Thank whatever will looks over us.” 

He lifted his arm a bit, but Aera was holding his hands. “Why’s it always kissing me?” 

Ardyn laughed and kissed his cheek, curling up next to him for a moment. Something settled comfortably in his chest, a warmth he had missed. It was as though some distance had been created between them and now it was gone.

He gave the moogle a deeply suspicious look.

“It had to be done.” Maduin said calmly. 

“Kick em.” He suggested against Ardyn’s shoulder. 

Ardyn laughed, but it was nearly a sob, fingers cradling his face. “You are the silliest man I have met, one fight won and you are already looking for the next. Well, we are told there is more to come.”

“Yes, and next it will not be one lone messenger intent on drowning the city. Next it will be whatever bully force Bahamut can raise to protect his captive.” 

He closed his eyes, resting his cheek against Ardyn’s shoulder, letting the warmth of his nearness sink into him, past whatever barrier of coldness he could find. 

“You blocked him from me.” Ardyn said softly, wonderingly, arms tightening faintly. “You blocked him from the shield bond entirely. I could have helped him! If words were what you feared, then give us our minds and we can aid.”

“Bahamut has been watching you too closely, Adaigum. Still looking for a way to push his prophecy forward. Now. I have all of his pieces under that dome of water, unmoving, unchanging, and most importantly – not aging. There is a way of things.”

“Those pieces are my family!” Ardyn’s anger rippled down his spine line a current. He grunted a bit, gripping at his shoulder. 

“I know that. But they are also your doom, should Bahamut get his way.” Maduin sounded as calm as always. “I did this to save you both, to save all of Eos.”

“Eos.” He repeated. “That. You wanted.”

“I wanted to find her burial mound, yes. And now I have it thanks to your hard work. With it, I have the source of the Starscorge and a plan.” Maduin sounded tiredly patient. 

“We are only four people.” Lasha said quietly. “Can four people do anything at all?”

“Ah, little girl. There were only meant to be three. You were meant to slumber on with your siblings beneath the wave.” Madiun scolded gently. 

“Uncle Cor said to stay away from the water, so as it went up, so did I.” 

“Clever girl. We will just have to find some place to put you.” Madiun tsked softly. 

He realized somewhat belatedly that they were sitting on top of the citadel, the city of Lucis encased in a dome of water beneath them. 

He started a bit, but Ardyn held him, clearly already numb to the shock of the sight. Aera knelt beside them, her dress torn and her hair sticking up oddly in places. Lasha was dressed in a uniform shirt that had probably been her father’s and a pair of boots. There was not a while kit between them. 

The moogle sat on the ground, peering into his book.

“So what game are we playing?” He asked, voice raspy, hand clasped on Ardyn’s arm. 

“Now? A game of alliances. With you as our leading man.” Maduin grinned, his teeth too wide and pointy to be contained. 

He had a sinking feeling in his chest.

*~*

The outpost had been supposedly abandoned months ago. Which was to say nothing for the fact that the Nifs had been soundly kicked out of Lucis. 

Thankfully, they didn’t really need to worry about security. Ardyn was atop the wall in a flicker of magic, and he was inside with the stomping of Skip’s feet. 

Aera didn’t even bother with that much effort, appearing at his side once he was inside as though she had always been there. 

A gentle man could kill, it turned out, if the need was great enough. If the soldiers were twisted enough. 

The fight – such as it was – was not a long one. 

He had asked Ardyn about it, once, after they had torn through a base.

He had stated it was a mercy to kill them, to free them from what had been done to them. The walking death that caged them.

There had been a haunted look on his prince’s face, and he had not asked again, merely settled next to him every night and enfolded him in his arms. 

They rose each morning, and pressed on. Because that was what they must do. For Lucis, for their home. 

“Ah. Here she is.” Ardyn lay a hand on the statue. “Do you remember, Aera? Somnus pushed you.”

“And you tried to save me, and all three of us tumbled down the chasm. I do.” She sounded sad, as she always did. 

“Rattled about like radishes, Somnus said. I felt very much like a radish err we reached the bottom. But there she was.” Ardyn ran his hands over the statue, thoughtful. “Cor, I suppose…”

“Hm.” He moved closer, hand resting on his sword. “I hope this one is friendly.” 

“We handled the ones that weren’t.” Aera’s pragmatism was a startling thing, so fresh, but so world weary. “We shall handle this one now.”

He reached forward, resting his hand at the base of the statue, and prepared himself.


	35. Chapter 35

"Ardyn, it isn't even Dawn." He muttered, winding an arm through his and tugging him back down.

Ardyn relented with a small huff, nuzzling into his arms with a sigh. "I forget how much this takes out of you."

"Mhm." He kissed Ardyn's shoulder on reflex, hmming a bit. 

Ardyn ran fingers down his neck, and then started rubbing with a bit more pressure to release the knots. "I have been neglecting you terribly."

"Not your fault. This whole thing is fucked. Astrals messing with us, Lucis in a bubble of magic waiting for us to find the key."

Ardyn's fingers worked down to his shoulders. "I liked being a house husband. Looking after the children while the rest of you had grand adventures. You, particularly, seemed born for it. I had not realized how comfortable I had become, how safe it all felt. Until it was taken away."

"We will get it back." He whispered. It was hard to focus when Ardyn was gently working the tension out of his back.

"For them." Ardyn sighed. "I wonder if this is the true form of my curse. To love them so much and lose them every time." There was a gentle crack as Ardyn's touch eased something back into place. 

He closed his eyes, letting the ease sweep through him. "What can I do?"

"You are already doing so much." Fingers stroked down his neck. "For so many. What could I ask of you that you are not already doing?"

He opened a sleepy eye. 

Ardyn's smile was sad, but his eyes held the hint of a gentle humor. "Live. Cor. Whatever else they demand of you. I command you to live. Or else I shall build a castle atop Ravatogh so that I might glare down at everyone else being happy and prevent their bread from rising." 

"Petty. But effective." He snorted a bit. "I am very hard to kill."

"But you try so hard to test that." Ardyn's knuckles grazed his cheek. 

He smiled. "I know a decent healer."

"Merely decent?" Ardyn's smile was teasing for a moment, but it faded. "Did you think this is what it would become, those years ago when you wrapped me in a blanket and let me listen to your radio?"

"As you may have discovered, I don't think ahead very often." He settled his chin on his arms. "You seemed too hurt to wish harm on anyone. Too scared to know what you could do if you wished."

"You were right. But I doubt anyone else would have spotted it. To them I was a monster or a project." Ardyn trailed a thumb over his cheek. "Yet here we are."

"What did you see?" He asked quietly.

"The first kindness anyone had shown to me in two thousand years." Ardyn's breath hitched. "You led me out of that dark place, Cor."

"I only provided shelter." He responded, reaching up to touch him in return. "You did the rest."

Ardyn laughed a little and kissed his hand. "Still so humble."

"I know my strengths." Something was nagging at him, a piece he had missed. 

"I doubt that very much." Fingers caressed, digging into the muscle and coaxing it lose.

"Mhm." He stretched out, resting on his stomach to give Ardyn full access to his spine.

The smell of cooking meat reached him 

His brow furrowed. "Did you start cooking something?"

"No?" Ardyn's fingers lifted from his back. 

He sat up, still a little muzzy. 

Ardyn stood cautiously, lifting the flat of the tent.

"Somnus?" 

He bristled, hoping to his feet, swore half drawn. 

Somnus was crouching at their fire, rolling omelets. 

There was a large wolf across from him at the fire, and a man in green armor on the other side of him.

"Peace, Cor. It is only breakfast." Somnus turned the meat over the fire, lifting his head to gaze directly at Ardyn. "We are after all in the circle and you out number me."

That nagged at him, settling in the back of his mind. Somnus was telling them something, but he was not sure he understood. He glanced at Ardyn, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

For a moment, Ardyn was very still. Staring at Somnus, body tense and locked in place. "...only breakfast." He echoed, sounding very uneasy. "We should eat."

He stepped cautiously forward, glancing between the two silent watchers. The wolf was watching him with enormous yellow eyes, silvery fur bristled in every direction.

The knight was silent, features obscured by the mask he wore, entirely covered by his armor. His standard was a chess piece, stitched out on his chest with silvery thread.

Ardyn eased down across from the fire, studying Somnus.

Somnus deftly plated the food he had made, hand one to Ardyn, one to the knight, one to the wolf and one to him. Then he sat, and watched Ardyn in return. "That weapon made Gilgamesh, you know." He offered absently. "One of many, truly. But it was the first."

"I thought he was your man." He poked at the food, still suspicious.

Somnus shook his head. "He never was a man, and was not much for explaining where he came from."

"Ah." Ardyn mused, eating deftly. "So the cogs turn."

"A rather laborious industry. It seems there must be an easier way." Somnus said in - not quite response to Ardyn. Almost as though he spoke past him.

He furrowed his brow. Again that nagging notion that he was missing something. He twisted the fork in his fingers, adjusting g his grip. "Is that why you are here?"

Somnus affected surprise. "I saw the fire and was merely hungry for breakfast. And so we pass, two beings bound to the call of different masters, both contained within the circle that calls for peace."

He glanced at Ardyn, who had finished his food and was watching Somnus intently.

"Two?" He indicated the other two.

"Travelers, only, who walked the same direction as I." Somnus voice was bland, no expression moving his face.

That made his eyebrows jerk upwards. So Somnus hadn't led them, exactly, or else was denying doing so.

Bound, he had said. But how? What did that mean?

He turned to the wolf, who stood and walked forward as though it had been waiting for such a summons to approach. 

“A Messenger, even if it looks like a wolf.” Ardyn warned gently. 

“I know.” He offered his hand to the beast, and it lifted a paw to settle in his hand. The paw was badly swollen, the ankle divested of fur and matted with puss. 

He reached into a pouch for a potion, gently tending the injury, aware that Ardyn and Somnus had both stopped what they were doing to watch him. 

“So you are…” Somnus mused, voice soft. 

“So I am what?” He retorted. He still had the feeling that he needed to fight the man, needed to stand up and confront him. This was the man who had tormented Ardyn, who had jailed him unjustly, who had desired the crown so greatly that none had been able to turn him away. 

“Before Aera, there were those who could call on the Messengers.” Somnus said, with an air of thoughtfulness. “Some more than others, older brother could do it better than any I had ever met.” He still didn’t look at Ardyn. 

It was starting to bother him, even is Ardyn was merely listening and not reacting at all. 

“You couldn’t?” He grumbled, wrapping the paw and accepting the heavy head on his lap.

“One.” Somnus kept his tone light. “I only ever managed to call one.” 

He eyed him.

Somnus sighed and stood up, brushing crumbs off his pants. “You should be careful. Time is a sticky thing. You think it goes one way, but there are others with their hand on the clock.” And for just a moment, he looked at Ardyn, face a mask of old pain and sorrow.

He turned and walked away, back into the brush from where he must have come from.

“And you?” Ardyn asked softly of the green knight.

The man – possibly? It was hard to tell with the armor, but the figure was very tall. – stood, offered a shallow bow, and also left.

He felt the light buzz beneath his skin where the wolf’s head rested, and barely flinched. “Accepted me that easy?” He looked at Ardyn, who was staring off into the middle distance. 

There was still the nagging sense that he had missed something. “Ardyn?”

“Hm.” Ardyn sighed, dumping the rest of his plate into the fire. “We should go, Cor. It is very important that we do.”

“Why is it important now?” 

Ardyn glanced at him, smile wane and sad. “Because he gave us all the warning he could.”

“That was a warning?” He asked, doubtful.

“Enough of one. I will take him at his less than forward word. Can you call on Aera, se what she might know of his time hint?”

He kept one hand on the wolf’s head, just to remind himself that the newest mark was not the one he wanted to call upon, and reached out for Aera. Fire rippled down his arm, but no Aera appeared. 

“I rather think we should go more quickly then.” Ardyn said softly, suddenly urgent. “I think we are being looked for by more than what had us.”

“IF we are, why would Somnus warn us?” He asked, getting up to snag the gear packs and start packing things up.

“I spent two thousand years at the end of my chains. I think – perhaps – that Somnus too walks on a leash, one he has not yet managed to escape.” There was a soft, pained laughed. “Perhaps my brother also has some regrets? I cannot answer for him. But I think to be safest, we should put space between here and where we are going.”

There was little to do but help tear down the camp. Skip wouldn’t come, and neither would Aera or the nameless Stormcaller. 

They were on their own, save the wolf that limped along beside them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50K in one month! I DID IT!


	36. Chapter 36

Ardyn had taken to muttering to himself halfway to the cave, seemingly sorting a piece out in his mind as they rushed – it couldn’t be called walking, but they were not quite running.

 

But they walked, and they walked fast, and the wolf even limping kept pace with them.

 

He kept his hand on the sword, and half an eye on the sky as they moved. Surely whatever it was could not come at them from underneath? What exactly would come from this?

 

He spent time going back and forth – perhaps Somnus had merely meant to cause them to panic, perhaps he was bored, as a two thousand year old spirit might be.

 

But why? Why now? There was something caught in the back of his mind, something he was sure was important to notice.

 

He tried now and again to call on Maduin, but the Moogle did not appear.

 

Typical of the creature, when he actually wanted him he was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Ardyn.”

 

His prince paused, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“Ardyn, how did you get to the top of the Citadel? Where was Alessa?” There was a sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

Ardyn’s mouth opened, and closed without a word. “I do not know. Aera was lying you down, and there was water streaming for your mouth.”

 

“Wherever Maduin appears is an altered state of reality.” He said slowly, hand tightening further on the sword.

 

“What does that mean?” Ardyn asked softly.

 

“That I doubt he stopped time so much as removed us from it.”

 

Ardyn laughed softly, then looked concerned. “Why?”

 

“Because he needed us to do something, something he didn’t want Bahamut to see. Alliances, he said.” He put his hand on the shoulder of the wolf. “You were never have joined me in combat with a danger that could target her directly without Alessa.”

 

“No.” Ardyn agreed, worry knitting his brow. “I wouldn’t. But why have we not questioned it these past months? Why only now?”

 

“An altered state is an altered state. Our minds are just as easily manipulated as what we see.” He rubbed his hands together, feeling the fine hairs on the back of his neck spring to attention one by one. “We should probably run.”

 

They made it to cover with the wolf just as something struck the entrance hard enough that the entire mountain shook.

 

The wolf yelped, cowering behind them, and they both coughed on the dust, allowing eyes to adjust to the darkness.

 

“We made it.” Ardyn deadpanned, when the coughing had stopped. “Where are we?”

 

He moved his hand to the wall, pressing down against it. “Aera, I need light. Can you do that much?”

 

He felt a flicker of her presence, flame trailing down his arm to rest in his palm. “This is a test, I think. Why he can come and Aera can’t…”

 

Ardyn sighed. “It makes sense, as much as anything does. Aera is most assuredly on our side, and was not with us at the camp.”

 

The wolf whined.

 

The flame went out.

 

Ardyn gave a small pained moan in the darkness. 

 

"Are you hit?" He fumbled in the darkness, found a hand and squeezed, then used it to find his face. There was something sticky on his cheeks. "Shit. Where is it?"

 

Fingers clutched at him, seeming at once to draw him closer and push him away. "Cor. You have to go."

 

The wolf whined softly at his back.

 

"I have elixirs. Don't be foolish." He ran hands over Ardyn's face, trying to find the injury. All he found was more stickiness. "That is a lot of blood. I can't see anything."

 

"Cor." Hands clasped his, mouth pressing against his Palms. "Go. Please."

 

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

 

"I can feel it, Cor. I can feel it move inside me." Ardyn's chin trembled under his hands. "Go."

 

"You would never hurt me." He soothed, hands cradling his face. “Ardyn, Ardyn, stay with me?”

 

Ardyn shook his head, felt not seen, hands cradled his wrists. “Please. Go.” The ragged moan became a sob, more of the sticky substance crept down his wrists.

 

“Ardyn.”

 

His prince pinned him to the wall, and he hit with enough force that it briefly knocked the breath out of him, teeth caught his lower lip and bit down, and then they were kissing, Ardyn’s mouth hungry on his, savage in a way he never was. He could taste blood and something else in the kiss, and was for a moment too shocked to resist. A _hunger_ surged through him, a desperate need to consume, to own, to eat everything in its path. A rage, too, like none he had ever felt before. He shuddered beneath it, but did not try to escape.

 

It lasted moments, and then Ardyn was throwing him to the stone floor of the cave. “Run! Damn you, RUN! You are too _good!”_

 

He lay frozen for a moment, heart racing in his ears, too shocked to move. But the wolf howled, and that more than the snarl from where he approximated Ardyn must be standing roused him.

 

He ran into the darkness, staggering,, stumbling, hands scraping against the wall as he sought out the path. He dropped several times, once winding himself so badly he almost blacked out.

 

There were things in the dark. Things he could not see. Things that grabbed at him and hissed as he passed.

 

He couldn’t keep it up, not forever. He collapsed at the base of a statue, keeping anything from approaching at his rear. It was a tall thing made of heavy stone, and cradled before it he felt a tiny bit safer.

 

The wolf was gone, Ardyn was gone. He had lost his gear bag somewhere in the twisted maze of corridors, and his shirt was down a sleeve from a rough encounter with a wall. Maybe he slept. Maybe he drifted there in the dark, unable to see anything beyond his nose. The darkness was complete.

 

_If._

He opened his eyes. He thought he did, at least, there was really no tangible difference between his eyes being closed and his eyes being opened.

 

_You._

It wasn’t a voice exactly. Not in the proper sense. It was almost as though his mind brought the words up.

 

_Wish._

“Ardyn?” He called softly in the darkness, rubbing at his eyes.

 

_To._

He stood from his statue shelter, using his hand to tell where it ended and seeking out the wall. His lack of ability to see was frustrating, but not as nerve-wracking as his lack of ability to know things. What was happening?

 

_Live._

He swallowed back against the bile rising in his throat.

 

_Draw._

No.

 

_Your._

No. He could feel it, coming closer. Trying to crowd him.

 

_Sword._

His training had his hand at the pommel, but something held him back. Something warned him against the act of drawing it. It was really no question, his own instincts or a whispering voice in his head? His instincts had protected him thus far. He would trust them to protect him still. He stayed his hand.

 

_So._

 

He narrowed his eyes, even though there was no light to adjust his eyes to.

 

_Die._

The floor dropped out from under his feet and he was falling – falling – falling.


	37. Chapter 37

He was on a bed. An actual bed, fabric soft against the back of his hands. Alone. Which felt as unnatural as always. 

There was a soft clacking sound, a regular noise that drew him protesting from a deep sleep. There were hangings above him, a man who looked like Somnus pouring out an urn, a demon creature spinning around some terrified looking women, and another of a city drawn beneath the water, which was so well done that he could almost see the wisps of smoke from candles being extinguished. 

He sat up slowly, immediately suspicious. The last thing he remembered was falling. His sword was gone. Even the knife in his boot was gone.

The walls were covered in shelves, each holding a tightly rolled scroll.

Something in his chest relaxed a little. It must be another part of the library. But if he was here, where was Ardyn?

"Moogle?" He rasped, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The clacking stopped and a woman appeared in the doorway. She was wearing gold, the fabric seeming to flow with her body, with long dark hair piled on top of her head and eyes that seemed too large and dark to be real. 

"Cor Leonis." She stated, long neck turning unnaturally as she swept her gaze over him. "You are awake."

He knew he was gaping at her, unnerved by the sight of the woman. "So. Different library."

Her chuckle was dry, and he had to stop his hand from reaching for the sword. "No one but I looks at the tapestries. No one but I ever comes here."

There was something about her voice that made him uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. "Sorry for intruding."

She moved forward, seeming at once to be too smooth and almost jerky as she moved. She reached of her hands, as though to grasp him. 

"Ah...I really need to be going." He took a step back, and then another, but she was still walking closer. Step by unnaturally smooth step she crowded him against the wall.

"What does a man like Cor Leonis desire?" Her hands stroked his face. "What does a man like Cor Leonis demand of the world?"

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "Nothing. I have everything I need." 

"Do you?" She hummed softly, pulling down his eyelid and leaning closer.

This close, there was something wrong with her eyes. The lashes were long, and he supposed someone might have found her beautiful in an unnatural sort of way. But the black eyes darted everywhere at once, catching him, pinning him breathlessly in place. "I do." He managed, hand fumbling for his sword instead. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

His fingers felt numb, and when they finally closed around something it wasn't his sword.

"You love a man." The woman told him. "I can see him in the mirror of your eye. You love him, you would die for him save that he has demanded life from you. Not death."

"Neat." He whispered. What the hell was wrong with him? He could barely breathe. What the hell was she doing?

His hand tightened around it.

"You are loyal. Loyal and true. But your devotion is limited." She pulled down his other eyelid, not allowing him to close it. 

"Let me go." He gasped.

"So that you might draw your sword against me?" She asked sweetly. "You are like him that came before."

"Who?" He couldn't get enough air in his lungs, he closed his hand as tightly as he could manage around whatever he had grabbed, and putting the force he could into it. There were black spots before his eyes, his vision swam, making it seem like the black eyes had multiplied.

He swung the small, hard thing at her and she withdrew on too many legs with a shriek whole he doubled over, sucking in desperate gasps for air.

One of the tapestries was in his hand. It was heavy, enclosed in wood and metal, not quite as long as his sword.

"A shame." The woman said thoughtfully. "It would have been peaceful."

He touched his side, hand coming away sticky. Blood. A bite mark. "I'm not really built for peace."

She laughed. "What are you but a moth in this grand plan? Yet here you are, in my parlor. Lost. Trapped."

He adjusted his grip on the makeshift club. "Lady, if I am nothing but a moth I would remind you that we are surrounded by silk. A moth can do a whole lot a damage."

Her humor faded into coolness. "Another thing you share: pointless threats."

"Where is my sword? I'm leaving." He growled. 

"I could weave you a happier fate, you know. A better love. A kinder end." She stepped back into the other room. "But with him? It will only be a tragedy."

He hissed, advancing on her, following her back into the other room. 

An enormous loom stood over everything, hung with an elaborate and heavy hanging. He knew the picture. Knew it because he had walked past it almost every day of his adult life. The angel center, the four men in the foreground.

His stomach sank as he watched. Silvery thread mixing with gold as the loom worked. The clacking sound resumed. The thread winding into the design.

"Prophecy walks." The woman hissed. "You are nothing. Not even a moth to tempt the flame. Nor even a mote of dust. So spoke Bahamut. So it shall be done. The true king will banish the darkness at the price of a life; his own."

Noctis. For some reason he was sure she meant Noctis. His lip curled. "The lies of Bahamut are well told. But all they are is pretty lace in a burning loom!" He thrust forward with the arm that held the scroll and the loom burst into flame. 

The woman howled. “You fool! What have you done?” She launched herself at the frame, batting uselessly at the flame with her hands, trying to extinguish it. 

His arm felt like led, fingers convulsing rapidly. What had he done? How had he done it? He spotted his sword and knife by the chair and beat to scoop them up before the flame could reach her 

The flames ate away at her skirt, revealing six massive legs beneath as she reared up. 

“FOOL!” 

Somehow, he was still holding the hard case. He swung the strap of it over his shoulder, took one last look at the room in flames, and ran out the stone doorway, back into the darkness. 

Only now, there were flames to light his way, leaping between the tapestries as the entire hall burst to flame.


	38. Chapter 38

He ran until his legs wouldn't support his weight anymore, collapsing gracelessly in the dark. The stone was smooth, almost slick, and very cold. His side ached, and he knew that the run had probably reopened the wound and spread the venom through his body. But all he managed was to clasp a hand over it before he drifted into unconsciousness.

He dreamed, fitful, disconnected dreams.

Regis sat on the throne, his face ashen, his eyes sunken in. Clarus knelt at his side, face grey as he whispered to the king. Their king. Regis was his, Clarus was his.

The room was empty of everyone else. It had the feeling of emptiness. Of darkness that hung close.

He tries to step forward, to reach for his king, but the dream wavered and he was stepping close to a boy instead, small, too young, staring down the sight of a gun as his finger pulled the trigger. He dampened whatever recoil there was, one shot after another hitting the same spot in the middle of the target.

"Good, Silver." Another boy whispered, leaning down to embrace him.

He knew it was Ravus even if the child he had known had never been this tall. 

They stood that way, arms looped around each other.

He turned slightly, spotting the girl and another boy sitting on the floor. The girl was doing knife flips, demonstrating to the boy who was mimicking her with a duller blade.

He had the sense of a unit, a family, strong and fierce, with another force pulling them together.

He took a step, the room folded, vanished into colors, and dimmed into another. 

A girl sitting on a window ledge, moonlight making her gold hair silver.

"Luna." 

She turned a little, as though she had heard him. Her face was scared, deep lines ruining the symmetry of her features. One eye was milky and sightless. But the other was still a bright blue.

He woke with a gasp and a moan, clutching at his side as pain stabbed through him.

There was a man before him, watching him with a curious expression. He seemed to be glowing, or else there was light. Silver hair fell nearly to his shoulders, curling loosely, and a single blue eye watched him, the other hidden beneath a scrap of leather. "This is a poor place for rest, my friend." He was dressed oddly, almost like a chocobo jockey. The pants were molded to his legs and thighs, shirt only slightly looser with lacing up the front. There were marks at shoulders and wrists, as though something heavy had rested there and rubbed with movement.

His hand tightened briefly on the hilt of his sword, but he felt no threat from the man. "I had no choice."

"I see this to be true." The man offered him a hand. "But it remains a dangerous place to rest, as these paths are."

He accepted the hand and the gentle tug to his feet, stifling a pained whine as he did so. 

The man lifted his shirt without asking, looking over the wound. "not as deep as it could be, it seems the venom leaks from your skin." Fingers brushed over the bruises skin around it, probing gently. It hurt, but he withstood the ministrations with no protests. Better to know and suffer briefly than to discover later. "No sign of infection yet, I doubt she pierced anything internal."

"Blessed luck." He muttered. "I would find my way into the home of a fiend who wanted to eat me."

The man chuckled, clearly amused. "My friend, you are a living soul. She would do her duty by you."

"What is her duty? To make shitty rugs?" He asked, pulling his shirt back down. There was a tracery of black around the hole in his side that he didn't like, but his new companion had not called attention to.

His companion laughed again. "After a fashion, I suppose it is. Now, what is it you seek here?"

"A way back to where my companion is. I fell. I do not know how deeply I went." He explained. "It seemed as though I fell for an eternity."

His companion nodded gravely. "It is not a journey undertaken lightly, for certain. Still, a lucky thing."

"Lucky?" He demanded. 

The man shook his head. "Only musing to myself that it is lucky that you survived."

He grunted, not sure he entirely trusted the answer. "Do you know the way out?"

"I know of a way out, though there is no proper exit. I have guided one not unlike you to use it before." The man smiled, as though sharing a jest. 

He raised an eyebrow.

"Ah. A serious man. I can see you worry sours your humor. Very well." The man offered an arm. "Shall we walk?"

"I can manage."

The arm dropped. "Of course. I have no doubt."

They walked for a while in silence, the only sound was the scroll case tapping softly against his sword. He would give a lot for a potion as the venom burned through him.

He thought he dreamed as they walked, or else he was hallucinating. There was a fog that seemed to take the shape of people, faces peering out at him from the wall, hands pressing against the wrong side of the wall.

"Why did he fail? The other one?" He asked, when the ghosts overwhelmed him. He needed the sound to clear his head.

"He was partially successful." The man said, hands tucked lightly behind his back. "he failed due to the treachery."

"Someone betrayed him?" He asked, quiet.

"His own heart." The man sighed. "Which is the worst thing to have betray a person."

He frowned, not understanding. "How could ones heart betray them?"

The man only smiled, still walking. "You will see, my friend."

He wrinkled his forehead, following after him. "Are the walls moving?"

"Ah. You see them?" The man asked.

"The faces against the wall? They seem to grow more numerous the further we go."

"They are formless. They can no longer communicate. But they sense that you live. They are aware enough to long for life." The man explained, leading him deeper. "Above the River the formless are many. The last step before they move beyond."

"So they are dead." He said, frowning. "Are you?"

The man smiled. "I am."

"But I am not."

"You wander at the borderlands. He who cast you here hoped the trials would kill you. They still could, you have escaped only one." 

"A vote of confidence. I will surely not fail. Why do you help me?"

The man seemed thoughtful for a moment, stopping in the hall. "Perhaps you remind me of myself. Perhaps of the other, who failed? I can give you few warnings, warrior. But I will give you this: whatever you see in the water, do not touch it. No matter how thirsty you grow, do not drink it. Should you fail that trial, here you shall remain until you are formless as well."

"Don't trust the water to be water. Understood." He took a step forward, but the man did not move. "This is where you leave me?"

"Indeed." The man offered his hand. "It was good to meet you."

He reached out to take the hand. "Thank you for-" their hands met, and the man vanished. "-your help?"

He turned in a slow circle in the hall, confused. The hand had felt solid, real. But the man was gone.

The hall was suffused with a dim blue glow. He could hear the lapping of water against a shore. The faces and hands still pressed against the wall.

Water. Don't trust the water. Right. He had to keep moving.

 

There river move through a narrow low ceiled cave. The water was dark and fast moving, with glimmers of blue and green at its depths. There was a narrow shoulder that he walked along, careful not to slide into the water. He could hear water falling ahead.

The stone was smooth, but the water was not up on the walkway. It was quiet.

"Leonis!" There was a startled laugh, and then Kincaid stood before him. Whole, Hale, with no sign of the grievous wound that had slain him.

Tears prickled at his eyes, throat tight. "Kincaid?"

The man clasped his shoulders. "How are you? What is it you do here?" The smile was easy, his face relaxed and clean. "God's above it is good to see you."

"I fell. There was a ...I suppose she was a woman. Ghastly thing. I was told that the exit was this way." He grasped Kincaid's arm. "How are you ..what?"

Kincaid squeezed in return. "You know where you are, right? You're alive, still. But this is the waterway of death."

He nodded. "Someone told me. There was a man." He swallowed hard. "Gods, man, I have missed you dearly."

Kincaid smiled. "Despite everything, I considered you a friend. The oddest man I ever met. But. I'll show you to the pier, but I cannot promise she will accept my vow. They follow their own rules here."

He nodded, still gripping at Kincaid's arm. "Can you walk with me for a little while?"

"I can. Until we reach the pier." Kincaid dropped his arms from his shoulders. "I would ask how you have been. But you are here, alive, but here. So I imagine it is not well. The darkness above... I have heard stories."

"Stories reach the dead?" He rubbed his chin.

"Men die. They bring their gossip with them." Kincaid shrugged.

"I had not thought if that...” he admitted, allowing Kincaid to take the outer position.

"Most don't until they arrive." Kincaid said it easily. “But they also forget vast swatches of what they knew, even if Lethe does not catch them from the waters.”

“What is Lethe?” He asked, immediately. 

“A phantom, or a judge. Once there was another judge, one who weighed souls fairly. But where they went I do not know. Now there is Lethe, who casts a net into the waters and draws forth the souls else they crash against the rocks beneath. There she picks memories from them, sins, and lets what is left of them tremble in the darkness as a wraith at her feet. Those are the lucky ones I am told. Those who go past her are dashed against the rocks to vapor. I came ashore where once the souls were weighed, and some welcomers directed me how to avoid her. There is no way on for us, we linger her.” Kincaid explained. 

“I think I met one of them.” He gestured back the way he had come. “He at least seemed to….know things.” 

Kincaid nodded, then turned to catch his shoulder again. “Tell her and the boy for me, Cor?”

He smiled a bit, though the lump was back, tight in his chest. “Tell them what, that you’ve become a friendly ghost alongside the rivers of the dead? What did you name the boy – Axis?”

“Wedge.” Kincaid’s smile was gentle. “Tell him that I died defending what I stood for, and that they were my last thought. That an honest man faces his death in order to defend what must be protected.” 

“Alec….” He looked down. “That blow.”

“It was meant for you.” Hands grasped his shoulders, squeezing gently. “I know. I knew, even then. But I knew also that if fate must have someone, it could not be you.” Alec Kincaid grinned at him. “Now give the Phantom hell and get back to them, Cor.”

He hugged the man, mostly because he had nothing else to give, and it seemed the moment that something should be given. 

Kincaid hugged him back. “Free my home.”

“I will, my friend, you have my word.” 

There was a last clasp of his shoulder, and Kincaid stepped back. “Watch the wraiths, and be aware that she will use the water and the dead against you. I am sorry, but this is as far as I can go.”

“Far enough. You have given more than any could ask, and I will remember you always.” He saluted, hand over his chest and gave a small bow – because that too was a thing he could grant, honor he gave to no man save his king. 

Kincaid’s eyes warmed, smile pained, before he faded back into the mist.

He dashed a hand against his eyes, removing the traitorous moisture, then dropped his hand to his sword. Lethe waited ahead.


	39. Chapter 39

That the woman holding the hook was impressive was not up for debate. She was imposing, dangerous. With a face half split between beauty and decay. She wore the sins on her belt, the dim light dancing and refracting around the carven. But he did not notice that even, not until later. The horror that he felt was much more personal. 

Her minions were equally terrifying, litches and ghouls and demons pressed against the outer edge of the dock, scrambling forward for bits of memory that she dropped. The scraps were all she allowed them. She gave no more. 

But they were not the first thing he noticed. That was Clarus, rent and bloody on the stone before her, struggling to free himself.

The world went raw and red, he knew he screamed. He must have, for he could feel it echoing in his brain, ripping out of his lungs.

The metal hook she raised - still glistening with Clarus' flesh - as though to block him but his sword sheered through it and into the litch that leapt to her defense. It oozed into the waters beneath.

"Who are you?!" Lethe demanded, black blood from the dead litch fading into her crimson cloak. "Who dares?!"

He hated his teeth at her with a snarl of rage, perched protectively over Clarus to prevent her servants from reclaiming him.

His friend was pale, skin nearly grey, eyes sunken in, white lines changing the shape of his skin.

"No man reclaims the dead." Lethe finally snarled. "Spoken or not, I deny your challenge! You shall join him, living or not."

There was a boat lashed to the pier, and he understood suddenly the perversion at work. The boat should have taken the souls to the other side, the bright shore he could see across the way. Instead, the- his chest ached - the dead had been tortured and abused.

He shifted his grip on the sword, and plunged it nearly to the hilt into the water.

She watched him with contempt. "You think to wound me with river water? You are more the fool." He could see the belt of sins that had been spoken of, but knew suddenly that it was not merely sins she held but sorrow and joy. The memories of those she had tormented, that she denied the passage. 

The impulse had him rising from the crouch he had taken to do it, blade glowing as though he had dipped it in fire, not dark water. "You have wronged countless."

She sneered. "I have done as ordered with you pitiful creatures. The cycle breaks and more demons are born. Soon there will be none left. The world of Eos will crumble. And we will begin again."

"There is still me." He flicked the sword briefly, looking down at Clarus, worrying and grieving, but firm in his resolve. This was wrong. This was a horror far beyond any he had expected.

He charged at her. Sword bright at his side.

She was not an easy foe, nor were those shadows she had gathered around her. He did not know how long they fought. He knew he cast them down by the dozen, the water may not harm her, but the altered sword sliced them to ribbons at every pass.

In the end, it was luck more that skill, his blade beheading her on a back swipe. The head rolled from the dock and into the water. He did not chase it, but what remained of her minions did. He tore her belt free on instinct, and after a moment her cloak, which he draped over Clarus, pulling his sworn brother into his lap. "Clarus, Clarus. Six, what have they done?" The grief that he had out aside for the fight swelled in his throat now. Clarus had been the one to see something in him, to give him a chance. Without Clarus, who would he be? He clutched the man to his chest, tears burning in his eyes.

Eyes drifted open, latching on his face. "Cor? Did he get you too?"

He shook his head. "I live. I am alive?"

Lips pulled into a smile. "Good. I'm glad."

"What happened? Who did this?" He asked, the words catching in his throat.  
"The founder king...he...it was me or the kid. Regis had to." Clarus closed his eyes. "It was quick."

His heart sank. "How long have I been gone? Clarus? How long has it been? What is happening in Lucis?

"Five years now?" Clarus said, voice hazy. "A long while. The kids, Cor. He started hitting the kids."  
"Who? Somnus?" He held tighter.  
"The blademaster. They're just dying, hundreds and hundreds of kids. Dying as they're born." Clarus's face twisted. "The hell did you go? Why are you here?"  
He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know how I got here. The moogle said..." His throat closed around it. "I should have demanded he take us back at once. This is my fault. I failed you. I failed Regis."  
"No." Clarus whispered, sitting up slowly. "No. Help me, brother. Help me to the other side."   
Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he made no effort to stop them. The boat was still there. The boat that should have been working, to see the worthy dead carried onward. "Of course."   
He helped Clarus to his feet, keeping the cloak tucked around him, stepping over the body that remained on the pier, lowering him into the boat. Once the rope must have lifted easily, but now it had swollen around the hook. He cut it rather than fight it, leaping down into the flat-bottomed boat

.  
It swayed slightly, lantern flickering to life above him, and then started to move. There were no oars, but clearly it had been missing its purpose. Clarus was more than worthy enough to cross.

The belt throbbed in his hand, and he found himself staring down at it, at one of the viles that hung from it. Clarus shivered beside him, but was still now. Still and quiet. 

It throbbed, a disconcerting red color. Each thrum of it beating against his fingers. He had been looking for this object, though he had never been told it existed. 

Something had set his feet on the path to find it. 

He almost threw it over the side of the boat, into the dark water. But he didn’t. The man had said that the one who had come before him had been lost due to a betrayal of his own heart. 

“Clarus. What is happening in Lucis?” He asked softly. 

Clarus lifted his head slightly. “The flood came, and you slew the beast. After that you and Ardyn were gone, with no trace left of you. Sylva’s baby, as well. It killed…gods, I know not. We found the dead in piles, drowned. Those that lived were changed. Magic became wild and unpredictable. Water and flame danced in the old districts, the wall came to life. Some of the statues roam with naught but their own commands.” Clarus lifted his head. “Where is Ardyn?”

“I lost him in the tunnels above when I fell. I have been told that this way holds the path out.” He paused. “You could come with me.”

“My body is dead, Cor.” Clarus said it easily, though the words made his heart seize, squeeze, ache. 

“There must be a way.”

Clarus shook his head. “For Lucis, and for Regis, I accept this. I have accepted my fate, to try to drag me with…it might cost your own life, Cor.” Clarus smiled at him. “And you, at least, must make it back to Lucis.” 

“Why me? What makes me more important than you? You have a family. A life.” Tears started again, making his throat ache.  
“Because you are more important than me. Cor. I am depending on you. For Regis and for Gladio. For my children in general, but especially Gladio. Because you’re and shield and you can teach him how to do that.” 

He shook his head, wordless with his denial.

“Do you remember when we met?” Clarus asked gently. 

“Of course I do. Idiot.” He whispered, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if he would have ever been ready for this. To lose Clarus was like losing a part of himself. His family. The one he had built.

“You were just a kid, a scrawny thing. Ten. Angry at everything. Your father had just died and you wanted to fight. You wanted more than anything to fight.” Clarus said, voice soft and almost fond.

“Your father took one look at me and laughed. I could barely lift the sword.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut in a vain attempt to stop the tears. “But you followed me. Chased me down. Kept coming back. I thought you were crazy.”

“I knew you were crazy from the moment I laid eyes on you. But I knew you were tough, too, just needed some time to season.” Clarus touched his arm. “Pretty soon, you were my little shadow. Always glaring at everyone, never smiling. But they let you in when you were thirteen, and you joined Mors personal guard at fifteen. I knew even then that you were something special. I just didn’t know what would happen. But then you met Ardyn, and it was like that part of you snapped into place. You became yourself, not my shadow.” 

He shook his head. “I would never have become anything without you.” The sob was a rough gasp of air, catching somewhere in his chest like a stone. 

“But you have, now. You’ve gone so far beyond what I can do, Cor. My son will need you. Lucis will need you. So live, Cor, and let me give this last sacrifice for my kingdom. Whatever comes next won’t be the old way, but I know you can help my son find his path.”

He shook his head, tears falling freely down his face. “How can I…I can’t, Clarus. I can’t.”

“You will.” Clarus grasped his arm. “I died. It’s over for me. But the living will need you.” 

He clutched at his hand, his brother’s arm. “Who am I going to call in the middle of the night when everything is going to shit? What am I going to do? I don’t….Clarus.” 

Clarus pulled him into a rough hug, lips grazing the top of his head. He promised nothing, said nothing, but they sat in the bottom of the flat bottomed boat clinging to each other, the ache in his chest never fading, only blooming into something that twisted and pulled, risked every thread of composure he might try to maintain.

The boat bumped gently against something. 

“My stop.” Clarus said gently.

“No.” He still wasn’t ready. 

Clarus stood up, draping the cloak over him like he was a kid again. “You’ve got miles yet to go, kid. But I know you can do it.” 

“No.” He repeated, aware that he sounded like a broken record, the ragged repeats doing nothing to change what had already happened. “No. I can’t. Please, don’t.”

Clarus ruffled his hair – or would have, if it were longer. An echo of when he was younger. “Look after them.” He jumped lightly over the side, landing on the shore with light feet, and walked determinedly into the light.

The dam within him shattered, and he curled up in the boat, sobbing like a child.


	40. Chapter 40

He cried until he had no more tears left, until the empty space in his heart ached and made him feel raw. The boat rocked him gently, remaining on the glowing shore. He could follow, he supposed. But he knew it would mean death. 

He finally started to pull the items from the belt he had taken, casting each token to the shore. They burst as the landed, sending men, women, and even children tumbling free. None seemed to see him, and all seemed to be shocked to find themselves on the shore. 

He watched them go, but if anything they firmed his resolve not to follow. He kept at it until all that remained was a small pouch full of odd coins, a dagger, and the heart in its case. 

His tears had faded, the ragged grief remained. 

When the last item had been cast ashore to release the prisoner within it, the boat gave a heave as though someone had pushed it away and floated away, into the darkness. Back up the river. 

There was nothing but water on each side of him. Nowhere to go but where the boat took him. He could only hope it took him to where he needed to go. 

The world narrowed to just the boat. He counted the coins, running fingers over unfamiliar faces on the currency. He thought about Insomnia and the people he had left there. Had others died? Would he arrive home only to find that nothing remained of home? 

He worried about Ardyn, if this had been his path, how bad had things been above? How badly had the Scourge hurt him? He was becoming newly aware of how active the Shield bond had been, how connected he felt to Ardyn. Because now his mind was empty of anything but his own turbulent thoughts, casting about for any sense of the prince. His prince. His friend. 

A kinder ending, the weaver had promised. He doubted that very much. What could be kind when his brother lay dead? What could be kind if he left Ardyn to his fate? Left Regis somewhere that he was forced to choose between son and shield? There was no kindness to be found in this world while Bahamut controlled it. No kind end, no love that would soften the blow. He had sworn an oath, promised to guard. He would not betray that bond. 

The sword still glowed, lit from within by a golden fire. He dare not touch the blade, but sheathing it had not dimmed the glow one bit. 

Eventually, he slept, curled up beneath the cloak, bobbing in the darkness it was almost a peaceful sleep. He had no sense of time – and no sense of if time passed the same way here, when what had felt like days to him had been years for everyone else – but his body was tired, heavy, and welcomed the chance to rest. 

He woke to the soft press of hands against his body, a ring of faces above, and startled violently backwards. 

The ghostly children studied him, sitting in the boat. 

“Uh…” They barely seemed to pay attention to him, though a few patted him. They shared a face, which was creepy as hell. Almost a dozen of them, all wearing the same face. 

He got up, making sure he had the belt and its contents as he moved. They were at another dock, a different dock. One that blessedly had what appeared to be a staircase leading upwards. The dock was crowded with people, all of them staring at him. 

He got out of the boat, and immediately several people rushed to take his place aboard it. The moment it was full it set off again, bobbing away into the darkness. 

Some order restored? 

He stepped back through the press of people, looking around hoping against seeing someone he knew until he reached the steps. He made himself stop looking then, not wanting to know. Clarus had been the best of them, his best friend and brother for most of his life. 

He didn’t want to know if he had lost anyone else.

The cloak was lighter than he imagined, wrapping around his legs as he walked. It gave an odd sense of movement – but also made him feel calmer, more protected. 

The steps led upwards, which gave him a little bit of hope. Out seemed like it must lead up. Out had to be an upward direction, not the subterranean river that he had traveled on. He passed spirits on the way up, most of them formless and faceless. Known only by the occasional soft cry or moan. 

Newly dead and apparently still feeling what killed them. 

He pulled the cloak just a little bit closer, trying not to shiver, following the long path up the stairs. Trusting that if he went up there had to be a way out. He had never really wondered about death, about what would happen when he died. It had not been something he considered. 

But now the dead were all around him, mourning their ending. 

It was hard not to feel the chill of his own mortality with that.

“He must come this way, and then he will die. A man called Cor Leonis.” 

He paused, listening. 

“A man who had hurt me. Who has stolen from me. A man I will kill. This Cor Leonis will pay for the damage he has done.” The muttering was soft, almost impersonal.

He moved forward slowly, taking care to silence his feet as he did. 

The weave stood before a giant train, her dress half burnt off her body, balanced on six spiderlike legs.

He closed his hand around the sword, walking forward slowly. 

“Thou hast lost to a mortal.” The train said, a trace of humor in its voice. “He commanded thee to kill him, and yet he walks alive, and thou art shrouded in thine burial gown.” 

“Be quiet.” The weave hissed. “He will come this way, and I will kill him. Only then will I move on.” 

“Thou art delaying thine own natural end. To deny it will cost thee a seat on the barge. Hark, even now thou art fading.” The train had a deep, metallic voice that unnerved him. Echoing.

He kept walking, past the spidewoman. Neither seemed to see him, which made him hunch deeper into the cloak. 

“I will rise again. He will return me to life. As is his power and right. I have been loyal, I have been true.” The spidewoman stated. 

“Thou art true to thine own purpose. He who sees beyond all else has known thee, and judged thee. Thou shalt never walk the fields of Elysium where the worthy dead do linger. To thee a colder fate will be granted, and thou shalt toil in it till thine own soul is fed to the dogs. No wheel will have thee, no mother will welcome thee. Thou shalt know only the suffering thou hast wrought.” The train intoned, serious. 

“And what of you? Have you not also betrayed your purpose? Have you now also relented to allow for what shall come?” 

The train was silent. 

He moved past the spiderwoman, worrying that the train might feel his feet as he stepped aboard. 

“To linger here serves no purpose.” The train intoned the moment he had stepped aboard. “This one shall see to its duty.” 

“He will come.” The spider warned. “He will come, This man, this Cor Leonis, and I will kill him.”

“Do as thou will, but know the gate once closed shalt not open to thee again.” Magic hummed through him, and he pressed into the metal. The train moved. 

He did not relax, fearing detection at any moment, hand clutched around his sword.


	41. Chapter 41

The train stopped with zero fanfare, there was no warning. No announcement. It just…stopped. The station appeared deserted to him, but he got off anyway, keeping the cloak pulled close. Here, there was a black stain. Black liquid clung to the walls, filling the air with the sickly sweet scent of decay. 

He avoided those spots, walking carefully up the only path left open to him. The stairs were narrower here, unlit, somehow steeper than the ones he had climbed before. They abruptly were not stairs at all, but a ramp that challenged his steps. 

His back burned, legs ached, and lungs gasped for air. But there was no place to stop. Even pausing on the steps risked his footing and threated to send him plunging back down the league he had already traveled. 

He refused to look back, no matter how long he walked. He kept going, pushing his body beyond all telling until he at last reached a flat spot and allowed himself to collapse. 

There was a soft whine in the darkness, and a wet nose pushed up against his cheek. He flinched away, but the wet nose persisted, a small wet path tracing itself on his face. He drew the sword, allowing it to light the area and the wolf was gazing down at him, tail wagging behind it.

“Wolf.” He reached out, burrowing his fingers into the soft fur. “Good dog.”

The wolf licked his face again, tail becoming a blur behind it. 

“Am I back above?” He asked the animal, getting to his feet. “Where’s Ardyn?” 

The wolf whined softly, dancing back a few paces.

“Ok.” His legs still ached, but the gentler incline of the hallways let him keep to him. He tried to avoid touching the walls after the first time he found himself wet to his elbow in the black substance. Scourge, he thought. More of the star scourge. Was this place perhaps the source? Somehow? 

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about the fact that Ardyn had been here, locked in. Alone. 

The wolf was a silvery guide before him, pace intent but not so fast that he had to try to run – he knew he would fail if he tried. Probably fall as well. He was still on his feet through pure force of will, and everything felt like a cramp about to start. So long as he kept moving slowly, he was pretty sure he could work through it. But he had not had anything to drink in days, and was probably on the verge of dehydration. Did those rules apply in the world of the dead?

He had no idea, and nobody to ask save the wolf who seemed determined to get him to follow. Hopefully to Ardyn. He didn’t know if he could manage anything else. 

There was a hum and a click in the darkness, and then a blinding pulse of light.

A scream pierced his consciousness, as he reflexively threw an arm over his eyes. He had adjusted to the dimness, this natural light was too much. It seared through him, stabbing right into his brain. 

Tears welled up and escaped his control, creeping down his cheeks. Another click, another scream, and darkness – or at least dimness – again.

Ardyn hung before him, hands twisted above his head, body pierced through with chains. His body still steamed from the light, black smoke oozing off of him as he healed. Blood dripped from ankle and wrist, from where he had fought the chains in his agony. But they held fast, they would not let him go. 

There were mirrors around him, and a single opening above him. The mirrors were spiked things, covered in points that reflected the light with laser like prison. 

Sunlight. This place was torturing him with sunlight. His stomach turned as he moved quickly forward, stopping because the wolf grabbed his shirt and pulled him back just before the spiked walls slammed shut around the prince.

“No!” The word was hoarse, ripping its way free of his voice. He had not spoken in some time. He could feel it in the way the word tore at him. The walls snapped back, and Ardyn was limp, covered in black blood, wounds slowly closing. He did not even scream this time, perhaps he had been too deeply pierced. The chains were taunt, anchoring him in place.

“NO!” He threw himself forward just as the light portal opened again, the cloak twisting through the air as he threw it over the man. His friend. His prince. The sun at the center of his universe. Ardyn whimpered, the light diffused through the fabric still enough to hurt him in this state. He couldn’t cover him completely, with the chains in the way, crossed over and through his body. He pressed his face to his stomach, blood slick against his cheek. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m sorry. Oh gods, please. Ardyn.” Fumbling, he drew his sword, hacking at the chains.

The mechanism would close again, but he refused to move, chanting soft apologies as he worked to free him from the net of chains.

This had been his dream, his nightmare. The same pulsing one he had walked so many times. Ardyn in chains, Ardyn again in that dark place. Except now there were more chains, more things to be cut.

He heard the mechanism to close the walls start up and whirled, slashing out with the blade.

There was a small, compressed explosion. The light within the mirrors dimmed. 

He returned to cutting the chains away. 

Ardyn was completely naked, anything that had been left to cover him had been torn by the bloody mechanism. Burned by the light from above. Bile filled his throat as he caught the chains holding his wrists, struggling with the man’s weight as he fell.

The wolf was there beside him almost at once, supporting the man as much as he was. Dragging him free of that place of torment. 

On instinct, he pressed the blade to Ardyn’s stomach as they laid him down, flat of metal pulsing as it drew….something. Free. Thick blackness pulsed, twisting around the blade until it shone with the same fierceness it had in the underworld. 

He sheathed it, wrapping the cloak around him, pillowing his head in his lap. “Ardyn, Ardyn….” He could not stand another loss. Not now. Not yet. He could not stand to lose his prince. He would go mad. There would be nothing left of him. Nothing at all. Only a wild, feral creature in the dark.

He cradled his face, kissing cold lips, trailing kisses over his face. Desperate. “Please. Please. No…please.” He ran hands down his throat, down his chest, seeking desperately for a pulse to give some hint of life. Something to cling to. 

What he got was a soft moan, and the press up lips against his own in the dark, a kiss returned, desperate. Longing. A hand lifting to clutch at the back of his skull to pull him closer.

 

And then, finally, the bond. Relief and fear mingled and shared between them, pain and the agony of parting, the longing of a return. The joy of him in the dark. They shared almost too much between them in those first moments, enough desperate desire from Ardyn’s side to make his face heat, enough grief on his part that he felt a sob shared between the join of their mouths. 

“Cor?” Was Ardyn’s first word. “I thought…I thought…”

He shook his head, because it didn’t matter what Ardyn had thought. “I’m here. I’m here.” 

Ardyn’s hand tightened slightly at the back of his neck. “I love you. I love you. I am sorry.” 

He shook his head. “I left you. My gods. I left you to return to this…” He found a chunk of chain still sticking out of his side and tugged it free as gently as he could, dropping it to the ground. “What happened? Who did this?” 

"I lost you in the dark." Ardyn's voice was soft, fragile. “And then the chains returned for me.” 

He leaned closer, burying fingers into Ardyn’s hair. “I’m sorry. The floor collapsed and sent me deep into the earth. I would never leave you here.” The promise was easy, it was the only truth he had to tell. But it felt like something much heavier than it was. 

The true king, Maduin had said. It was the true king he swore his oath to. 

And he would never break it. 

*~* 

It took them some time before they were ready to move again. Ardyn had been so long above that he was chilled and complaining, and he had spent the past hours climbing the stair to the top, with all the scrapes and bruises such a steep incline had caused. He recounted the story as best he could – from his first awakening in the weaver’s bed, to the fight with her, and then his second awakening in the hall with the one eyed guide who had spoken to him so strangely. He spoke at length about his meeting with Kincaid, and shed a few more tears as he recounted the last of the tale. The discovery of what had gone on in Lucis, the rescue of Clarus, beheading the half dead woman, the souls he had tossed on the bright shore, Clarus’ leaving. The weaver again, the train’s odd words, the climb, and the wolf. 

Ardyn looped an arm around his neck, holding him tight and close throughout. He cried a little, but seemed too exhausted for much more emotion than that. 

“Who came for you with chains?” He asked, finally, stroking his king’s face. 

“I can hardly say. Their eyes shown red in the dark, long fingers that ended in claws. I thought-no. It was not Somnus. I do not know what Somnus does. But he was never here.” Ardyn’s voice was soft, hazy. “He bound me, and then dragged me into the air. The hatch above to burn me, the spikes to impale me. On and on, as though it would never end. I have no idea how long I hung there. I thought perhaps I had gone mad.” He smiled, softly. “Then you were there, and I was sure madness had allowed me a retreat into what I longed for most.” 

He kissed his prince gently, rubbing his cheeks to rid him of tears. “I am sorry. I left you so long.”

“It was not as though you were given any choice in the matter.” Ardyn traced fingers down his neck. “Should you have stayed, I would have consumed you. There was no way but to run.” 

“Still. I wish that there were some way I could have remained by your side.” He curled himself around the man, cheek to cheek, relaxing his body into the familiar skin, no matter how unfamiliar the place was. 

“Sleep with me for a little while?” Ardyn murmured. 

He nodded, shifting to ease himself beneath the cloak – the only suggestion of a blanket they had – next to his prince. 

Ardyn had nothing, not even a scrap of fabric remained of his outfit. He had somewhat more than that, though his were in tatters with little more than the sword belt and his boots useful for anything. But the cloak was warm and comfortable, and the wolf quickly moved to curl up next to them, adding warmth to their huddle on the floor. 

“Miss havens.” He muttered, as Ardyn curled into him, hand making a ball of fabric at his shoulder. 

“Missed you.” Ardyn returned, mouth settling against his shoulder so that every word was felt as much as heard.

“Missed you too.” How long had it been, for Ardyn? How long since they had last lain like this, side by side, pressed as close as they could get to leach each other’s warmth.

He thought of Clarus’ teasing, and it ached in his chest, but he pushed that aside to nuzzle into Ardyn’s hair, arms looped around his waist. So that nothing could part them without him knowing, nothing again could deny him his place at Ardyn’s side.

A kinder end, she had sworn. A gentler one.

He would not choose it, not if it meant that Ardyn was gone from his life. Not if it meant that there was someone else by his side.

The echo of warmth over the shield bond was surprising, but welcome. He could feel Ardyn feeling his emotions, echoing them, tangling them further into the joined surety of them, side by side, exactly where they should be not matter what else occurred. 

This was his choice, and he would fight whomever he must to make certain this was the life he led. 

Ardyn huffed a soft laugh against his shoulder. “I think you have already fought enough monsters today, Cor. Rest for a little while. Rest, and dream only of this.”

“Yes, Ardyn.” He murmured. 

“I love you, my shield.” Ardyn whispered. Heard, felt and shared between them.

The shield bond was confusing, but he liked it still. It filled the pit in his chest, the longing fulfilled. “I love you, my prince.” He answered, and closed his eyes. 

As long as he was by Ardyn’s side, he feared nothing else. 

This was enough.


	42. Chapter 42

He dreamt on the stone floor as he had since they had entered this place. In snatches and pieces that made no sense. Luna on her knees, eyes closed and hands clasped as though in prayer. The strange scars remained, a spider web of creases she was too young to carry. 

Ravus running his hand down a window, the glass melting under his fingers and his lips lifting into a slow smile as he turned to gaze at his companion. 

Noctis sitting in a wheeled chair, working a small piece of carved stone between his fingers, the same fine tracery of scars near his eye. 

Sylva set on the throne, eyes milky white and unseeing, face the pallor of death. She did not breathe, she did not move, she merely sat.

A man walked through the halls, closer and closer, he could hear the gentle rhythm of his boots against the stone. He knew the man, had met him before in the depths. He knelt down and sat a small pile by his head, and put a hand over his forehead, murmuring softly to himself too quiet to be heard. Then the man smiled and leaned over their sleeping bodies, single eye bright in the darkness. “Better than expected, Cor Leonis.” 

He jerked awake with a gasp, staring about. Ardyn woke with a muzzy grumble, arms tightening around his waist as he sat up. 

They were alone, save the wolf. Nothing had changed except for the small pile of clothes and supplies placed right next to them. 

“What is it?” Ardyn asked sleepily, voice still muffled against his stomach.

“A dream.” He admitted slowly, poking at the pile. Two sets of clothes, a bag with restoratives and bandages, a blanket, food, water and a pair of shoes. 

“Your dreams now manifest breakfast?” Ardyn yawned, teeth grazing lightly against his stomach before the man – with clear reluctance – sat up. “And clothes, I am quite glad to not walk out of this place completely bereft of those. The gods do seem fond of stealing my clothes.” 

“A strange pattern.” He shook out the clothes, offering Ardyn the longer tunic that he knew the man would prefer. 

Ardyn dressed himself slowly, watching him as he stripped out of the tattered clothing he had been wearing and dressing himself. The clothes were a similar style to what the one-eyed man himself had worn, save there were no stains. “Here.” He tore a strip out of the remains of his shirt, gently finger combing Ardyn’s hair back from his face into a braid. 

“Mhm. Yes, thank you. It does become quite the mess if left to its own devices.” Ardyn caught his hand, kissing his palm. “How did I ever manage without you, Cor?”

“Poorly, it would seem, if the gods keep stealing your clothes.” He teased gently.

Ardyn’s answering smile was sad, but present. He knew the return to the nightmare would not fade easily, but he was ready to put in the work reassuring him. 

He let Ardyn examine the food while he moved things around on the two belts he had in his possession, fastening the medical pack and everything else on the stolen belt, and offering Ardyn his own.

The food was simple, dried fruit, dried meat, some sort of crumbly bread, but one of the flasks held something sweet that Ardyn seemed to enjoy, and it washed the meal down well. Ardyn tucked what was left of the food and the blanket into the bag the food had come in, he swept the cloak up off the floor, settling it around his shoulders. 

It was probably the easiest breaking of camp he had ever preformed, but they traveled lightly. Not by choice, but he thought they would manage as he dropped his gaze to the wolf. “Can you get us out of here?”

The wolf wagged his tail and set off into the darkness, leading them through the maze of corridors, the stone lightening gradually, less stains to mark them. They like could not leave the way they had come, that exit had been struck closed. 

But slowly, light begin to penetrate his awareness. Not the focused, malicious light that had tormented the prince. But the gentler light of day. 

The light grew brighter and brighter until they were both squinting and Ardyn was breathing hard, entire body shuddering, hands twisting at his side.

Though leashed, he could feel his panic over the shield bond.

He stopped to slip off the clock, draping it around his shoulders.

The grateful look was a guilty one, shoulders slumping. “I know I am being quite foolish. Tis only the direct sunlight that hurts me, not this defuse light."

"Not at all." He pulled the hood up around Ardyn's face. "We can wait for nightfall. If you need."

Ardyn shook his head roughly. "We do not know if the exit will remain the exit. Nor if other forces might detect us and close it before we can slip out."

He took Ardyn's hands gently in his own, squeezing and then pressing a kiss to each palm. "I am with you."

That at least seemed to ease some of the panic. "I know. I will manage, my dear one."

"Torture is not something that fades quickly." He told himself tracking fingers under his wrists. "Stay close to me. I will keep you safe."

The smile he got in return was almost gentle. 

He kept one of his hands, holding it tightly in his own.

They emerged squinting into what he guessed was the evening light. Or else early morning.

Ardyn's hand was tight on his, but his focus was mostly on those standing before him. Aera stood with her head bowed, hands clasped before her. She looked guilty and upset, but did not lift her head to look at him.

Lasha to her left looked calculating, thoughtful. He suspected it was not his niece, for Clarus had not mentioned she was missing. But he did not challenge her presence, nor the face she wore. 

The stormcaller alighted lightly behind him, the wolf taking a seat behind him, and the green knight walked out of the cavern they had just exited.

Skip danced forward, nuzzling his shoulder and lipping his neck before he moved back to the circle that was forming.

Luna's nurse stood to the other side of the person wearing his niece's face, and ancient woman - the one who had started all of this - stood just next to Maduin, who wore a look of deep relief on his tiny face.

Dusk turned the sky above them a deep orange.

"Did you know?" He asked, finally. "Did you know what would happen?"

"No. There was no way of knowing, child. Bahamut saw what it was we were doing and fought me. I could no more intercede than you could." The moogle sounded sad. "But you survived. There is still hope."

His throat closed, hand tightening on Ardyn's. "And Lucis? What of Lucis, moogle? What of Clarus?"

"It is a tragedy to lose any Amicitia. I am deeply humbled by his cou-"

"Fuck that. They killed him. They killed him because of me. You know that." Tears burned at the corner of his eyes. "And all I am is because of you."

"No." Maduin answered, shaking his head, pompom bobbing in his denial. "Nothing you are is my doing. You are your own, Cor Leonis. As you have always been. We can ride the wind of your choices, but we cannot make you choose."

He tore the scroll case from his back, throwing it to the ground. "Is that what you wanted? Is that it! Is that why you sent us into that fucking cave? Why Clarus-" His throat closed with grief, hand clawing at the glass cage that hung at his side until he could hold it aloft. "Or was it this? The heart of a man that betrayed him. Ifrit's, isn't it?" He turned slightly to show it to the rest of the circle. "My family died for this."

Maduin had tensed slightly, mouth gaping open as he stared at him. 

The eyes of the entire circle were locked on the heart in the cage.

"No." Ardyn murmured. "They did not know."

"How?" Maduin breathed. 

"I slew her. I slew the spider creature as well." He snarled, letting the heart drop again to his side. "I cut the boat free."

Maduin turned to look at Lasha, and then at Luna's nurse, as if either of them could explain. Both women gazed at him blankly. 

“Well?” He snapped, ready to fight them when no answer was forthcoming. They had set him on this path, they had made this of him. His fury was a wild thing, barely in his control. 

“Little lion.” Madiun said slowly. “My dear little lion.” 

He scowled at the endearment. 

Maduin drew a breath, gathering himself for a moment. “There are times you do exactly as I expect, and others where I think I might teach you that every challenge need not be overcome at the edge of your sword. Still, I think you have done more good than ill here.” 

“Clarus is DEAD!” He snarled, stepping forward, only Ardyn’s tight clutch on his hand keeping him from drawing his sword. “That isn’t enough ‘ill’ for you?!” 

“As I said, I am deeply humbled by his courage. That he gave his life in place of others is to be lauded – no. You have spoken already, now I will speak.” The flash of teeth and the tiny hand rising warned him that he was dealing not with a plush toy, but with a divine beast who was not always so generous with his tolerance. 

He snapped his jaw shut.

Maduin nodded approvingly. “I honor his courage, my little lion, do not think that I do not. There are not many who would do so. He faced his fate with honor and met his death with grace. I mourn for his loss with you, though not as intensely as you do. He has delayed things so that we might act.” 

“’Act?’” He scoffed, turning his head away. 

“Ardyn, you are the true heir to Solheim’s throne, the true king of Lucis as well. That was taken from you, by deception and with malice.” Maduin stepped forward to claim the scroll case, small fingers gently unraveling it. It showed Ardyn on a throne, dressed in white, Aera at his side and a child on his lap, another corner showed Ardyn riding into a city on a black chocobo, flowers being thrown in his wake. “The true history. As Bahamut sought to conceal.” 

“The true fate, perhaps.” Ardyn corrected, glancing at Aera, who looked away after a moment, refusing to meet his eyes. He could feel a surge of old grief on the bond, but then Ardyn sighed, shoulders relaxing. “But not what became of any of us. That prophecy is no more, nor am I in any place to recreate Solheim. We have made different choices, and I am content with them.” His fingers tightened a bit, and he gave an answering squeeze of reassurance.

“Ardyn…” Aera’s voice was a mere whisper, barely breathed. 

“No more. I am done with the past, Aera.” Ardyn’s voice was gentle, head slightly down. 

“I understand.” Aera murmered. “I am sorry, for what part I played in what became of you.”

Ardyn shook his head, grip tightening. The grief was an old thing, stretched like a scar, but healed now. Whole again, if not the same. He turned slightly toward the man, gripping his other wrist as gently as he could. “Ardyn.”

“Nevertheless, our purpose was to set things to rights.” Maduin’s nose twitched. “No more, no less. For the heir to follow his father’s father, and for my king to return to his rightful place, no more maligned as the betrayer when he was in fact betrayed.” 

“And if I do not desire the throne?' Ardyn asked, voice cold.

"It is still yours." Maduin shrugged. "And should belong to your heir."

Ardyn's hand was very tight on his, tension swirling in the air.

His chest was uncomfortably tight, he did not like the coldness, nor the thrust to return Ardyn to some other fate. He would fight them if he must, but he was suddenly tired. Sick of heart and body of their long struggle to the surface, and his own battles. He longed for Regis, for Clarus. For a bed not made of stone. "Peace. We are both tired. Whatever matter you have between yourselves is not ours. Lucis is our home." He clutched at Ardyn's hand tighter. "We cannot leave things as they are, if the Bladekeeper reigns torment upon them."

"You will not like what you see." Maduin warned.

"You will like us very little of you try to keep us from it." He warned. 

Maduin sighed, bowing his head gently. "So be it. We will detain you no longer."

The circle of magic vanished, Aera giving them a sad smile before she stepped into the air and was gone. Only Skip remained, trotting closer to put his head against his shoulder.

"Do you think he will carry me?" Ardyn asked softly, exhaustion made clear through the bond.

"I believe so." His body ached as he heaved it over the back of the horse, pain shooting up his spine from his hips as he sat astride. He leaned to offer Ardyn his arm. "Come. It is long past time we return."

Ardyn sighed softly, but reached up to take his arm, settling into the saddle behind him, face nestled against his shoulder. 

The soft warmth of his breath made him want the journey to last longer than it did, but within a few steps they were there - in the dark city. The roads were quiet, and the buildings entirely unlit. 

Ardyn’s arm tightened around his waist. Skip’s ears pressed against his head. 

Water rippled away from his hooves with every step.

They were home.


	43. Chapter 43

His fingers went briefly slack on Skip's reins, eyes going wide. 

"Where are we?" Ardyn asked softly against his throat.

"Lucis." He breathed, barely daring to speak too loud in the silence. "This. This is Lucis."

Ardyn's arms went tight around his middle, fingers bunching up the fabric of his shirt. "What happened here?"

Skip snorted and started to walk through the water, head down as he sniffed at it. 

He kept only a loose grip on them, letting the horse have his head to keep moving.

He didn't trust the watery path, and he did not want to fall into it.

"We'll go to the Citadel. Regis should know..." Regis had to know. Regis had to be safe and whole.

He scrapped his brain for everything Clarus had told him - watching the statues that lined the street, sure that they might step free to challenge their way forward. He had never thought much about the ancient stonework of the crown city until this very moment.

Ardyn remained tense at his back, body pressed close to his so that no space remained between them.

They met no one on the street. Not a soul stirred in the city. He almost wished something would challenge them to break the silence.

Anything. Anyone. Even if it led to a fight. But the only sound in the dark was their breathing and the water around Skip's hooves.

Skip stopped at the bridge, huffing a frustrated breath.

He nudged the horse, trying to get him to move further in, but Skip refused to take another step, blowing and stamping at the ground, head tossing.

"I suppose we walk from here." He murmured to the prince at his back.

"I wonder what spooked him?" Ardyn slid down, a soft groan escaping him. "We are not even remotely ready for a fight, my dear."

"I know." He signed as he swung down, preparing himself for the impact.

He still leaned heavily on Skip as the pain went from heel to skill in a gasping wave of intense pain. His side twisted, and Skip huffed, but thankfully remained where he was until he could stand.

"Please let me help." Ardyn whispered, arm looping around his waist.

He shook his head, staring up at the Citadel. "I see lights." 

Ardyn made a displeased noise. "Stubborn man."

"You wouldn't have me any other way." He returned, with most of his normal level of teasing in his voice.

'"I would have you whole and well rested if I could manage it." Lips pressed briefly to his temple, warmth flooding him briefly.

"Save your magic." He grumbled, but didn't fight the hold.

"There is no one I would rather use them on than you my dear one." Ardyn straightened his shoulders. "Now we go."

He kept a hand on his sword as they walked, but they remained unchallenged. The eerie silence weighed on them, and he found himself relying on what they could share between them on the bond rather than words.

The great doors were cracked, light spilling out to form a puddle on the ground, he avoided it, pushing very carefully at the other door before he pressed inside.

"This feels like a trap." Ardyn said quietly, voice full of false cheer.

"Might as well write it in the sky." He agreed, keeping his voice low as they moved inside. There were no guards. Which was entirely unnatural.

A movement startled him, and a small pale blue throwing itself at him nearly gave Ardyn a heart attack.

For reasons he would be unable to understand, he found himself turning with the blue, putting himself between the person and Ardyn as they embraced him around the waist. "Luna?'

"Lunabella?" Ardyn echoed, startled.

Luna had her face hidden in his stomach, pale hair a mess of tangles. But she nodded.

He pulled her back a step and crouched down, staring into the eyes of the child. "Luna, sweetie, how long have we been gone?"

One eye was white, scarred over. She held up her hands. Seven fingers.

"Seven years?" A little nod.

He pulled her into a hard hug and she wilted against him, snuffling softly at his neck. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

Ardyn sank down next to them, adding to the embrace. "Where is everyone?'

Luna shook her head, leaning into them both for a moment, little gasping noises escaping her that it took him a moment to interpret properly as sobs.

"Sh, sh." Ardyn pressed a kiss to the top of her head, rubbing her back. "Are you hurt, sweetling? What can we do?"

She shook her head again, stepping back and wiping at her face with the heel of her hand. She grasped his hand, looking at Ardyn with her good eye, pleading 

"Of course we will come, darling." Ardyn got up first.

He remained his on his knee, studying her. "Are the others here?"

She nodded, looking down.

"In the caverns? Can you take us to them first?"

Luna hesitated, biting her lip and looking nervously behind her for a moment before she shook her head.

"Ok." He gave her hand a squeeze and stood up. "No matter what, don't move out of reach."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, but nodded her head. Then gave a little tug on his hand to draw him in her wake. They would have made an odd chain, if any were to see them, with him in the middle held tightly by the people on either side of him.

Luna led them to the elevator – which he had been expecting and dreading in equal parts. If there were something to be seen, it would be in the throne room. That much he was absolutely certain of. 

Luna looked up at him sadly, fingers twisting and twining with his – relax, tense, relax, tense. He could feel the flutter of her heart when she held tightly, the whisper of her trembling when she was relaxed. 

The child had suffered. This child, who had already been through so much had suffered. 

“It will be over soon.” He told her, gentle, careful.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she shook her head. Just once, but the meaning was clear as the doors whisked open, admitting them to the throne room. 

Ardyn made a terrible gasping sound behind him.

“Regis!” The cry echoed back at him from the empty room.

His friend was suspended on chains from the wrist, arms stretched wide over his head, feet barely able to touch the ground so that the strain would be constant no matter what he did. His mouth had some sort of metal piece over it, one that clearly bit and worried at the tender flesh, for blood dripped freely down his chin and neck. 

It pooled around him, darker blood at the edges suggesting that perhaps it was not entirely his blood. The ring surrounded his finger with a halo of impure light that seemed to absorb all else around him, making the tendons stand out on his arm and flakes of skin to turn to ash and twist away every few moments. The light pulled away to the crystal above the throne, pulsing every brighter with the sickly light. His head was limp, chin resting on his chest, for all appearances unconscious save the sickly glow of the ring. 

He let go of Luna’s hand, drawing his sword and walking forward quickly. 

“If you cut him free the entire citadel will explode, including those sheltered in the basement. I would suggest you hold your blow, Cor Leonis.” Sylva said quietly, standing up from the throne. “Lest you wish a massacre, when he has worked so hard to keep them safe.”

He curled his lip back in a snarl. “Bahamut, let him go!” 

Sylva’s once pleasant face twisted into a cruel imitation of humor. “You think my master would lower himself to speak to you? No. You may have destroyed my body, Cor Leonis. But as you can see, I have found another.” Sylva’s hand lifted to her face, caressing. “This one has always been a voice of the gods, why not give one home?”

“Lethe.” He snarled. “I killed you once. I’ll do it again. Don’t think I won’t.”

She laughed. “My lord Bahamut would have me give you his terms.” 

“State them.” He said, never dropping his eyes from Regis. 

“Give up the sword and the heart, leave this place and never return and he will let your king live.”

“This isn’t life. You know that.”

Lethe smiled, but her lips forgot how to form the expression properly, going too far at one end and not far enough at the other end. “No. But it is what he agreed to. You must respect his wishes.” She tilted her neck to the side, vertebrae clearly out of place. 

“And Clarus?” He asked. 

Regis flinched, proving he was in fact awake.

That observation made his heart sink further into his stomach, 

“A choice he also made.” Lethe said, tilting her head. “You are not his Shield, so you play no part here.” 

“I want the people.” Ardyn said quietly. “The children you hold beneath, the Queen and her children.” 

Lethe gave him an irritated look. “The prince is ours to claim.”

“You have your chosen.” Ardyn indicated Regis, voice hard and cool. “You have your voice.” He indicated Sylva. “If Bahamut wishes to discuss terms, he must know that though Lucis might crumble, Cor and I would both survive.” 

Lethe hissed. 

He stiffened his back, glaring at her, but adjusted his grip on his sword with a brief spin of the blade, sheathing it in a practiced move that did not require him to look. “Luna, the queen, her children, what people of Lucis remain that have not fled who wish to follow us.” He hated it, loathed it, watched blood roll down Regis’ chin, forming new patterns on his chest and stomach. I will save you. He tried to send the king, his friend, the second person to ever see worth in the useless orphan who had wanted so much to fight. The person who had given him a chance. 

His brother as much as Clarus. He lay those sins at Bahamut’s feet, knowing Regis would want his wife and children safe more than his own life preserved. Would want what remained of his people safe, no longer prisoner by his own hands. He knew, and he hated it, he must abide by that. He must trust Ardyn’s insight with the threat. 

Luna stood quietly in the circle of Ardyn’s arms, fingers pale where they gripped him. She looked like half a ghost herself, wane and pale and silent. 

He wanted to sweep her out of the throne room, to hide her somewhere. But he knew with certainty that they needed to get all of the children out of Lucis. That the future of the city lay within those who had not managed to flee. 

“The prince is ours to claim.” Lethe twisted her neck again, crackling pops sounding from the bones as they ground together, neck bulging unnaturally as she moved. “But not yet. Yes. Not yet. The rest are yours, if you wish. We do not care.” 

He took a slow step forward, until the tips of his fingers could brush against Regis’ chest, making faint tracks in the blood. “I saw him to the other side.”

Regis lifted his head, foggy blue eyes locked on his, tears welling up. 

“Go.” Lethe snarled.

He stepped back, royal blood coating his fingers, and held them for her to see. “I swear to you, Bahamut. When next we meet, there shall be no hostages between us.”

Lethe’s laughter chased them back to the elevator, the sickening pulse of light throbbing around them even as they descended.


	44. Chapter 44

Ardyn kept his arms around the girl, resting his chin on her head as the elevator decended.

He was too agitated for comfort, staring at the door of the elevator, pacing occasionally as they sank past each floor.

"He was right.' Ardyn said quietly. "But we needed to come. If only to gather what remaines..."

He grunted in responce, not wanting to think about it. He had wiped Regis blood on a scrap of fabric that he had braided into a quick knot, tied about his upper arm. A reminder, a promise. He would return. He would save his friend. 

The door whisked open and they stepped into the dark hall, only flickering emergency light keeping their way lit.

"I never thought I would see the Citiadel so empty." He told Ardyn. Luna was the only living thing they had seen all day. He drew his sword, fixing his thoughts on the blade until it brightened reassuringly

"New trick?" Ardyn asked.

"Dipping it in the water did something to it. I would rather use it than anything in the emergency boxes." He still took one of the emergency packs out of the lock box, tossing another to Ardyn to strap on, and one for Luna. "Hard to know what we will be facing." He touched her cheek, tracing the white lines of the scars. 

"There is a sense of sickness, but it is not the scourge I know."

"A curse." He smiled at the girl as reassuringly as he could manage. 

She echoed it, eyes darting all over the hall. But she did not speak.

"There are further supply dumps on the way out, so we shouldn't overshop this one."

"Of course. It is more than we started with." 'what with the odd habit of stealing my clothes' the final words were only within his mind, the warm echo of humor dancing around him.

He adjusted the grip on the sword, striding as confidently as he could. The blade lit the way. He paused outside the door to the shelter, then pushed it open.

There was a hiss from inside, and then a surprised "Marshal?" To his left, but his eyes locked with Aulea's as the queen strode to him. The shelter was packed, but almost completely silence.

He braced himself for a blow, but Aulea put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Cor. God's be blessed."

He returned the hug one armed, studying the room. "How many are there?"

"Only a few hundred. When the Ashwing struck - well. Most fled. Carrying the sickness with them." Aulea looked exhausted. "More died. Many, many died. The council -" she looked away. "Regis did what he could."

"I saw." He gripped her shoulder. "I am sorry."

Aulea shook her head. "Luna said the gods called you and gave you no chance to return, and Travis said you saved him."

"How many guard?" He asked.

"Maybe a dozen?"

"What is the Ashwing?" He asked, gripping he shoulder. "I know almost nothing. Clarus."

Sorrow filled her eyes and she looked away to a boy sitting in a wheeled chair. "They made Regis choose. There is only one cure for the Ashwing sickness. For someone to die in your place. Noctis was so sick, but they would not let him die. They just forced him to suffer. And then Bahamut told him that...if he killed myself or Clarus then the boy would be cured. A life for a life. Clarus wouldn't let me do it. It was his duty he said."

He pulled her into a tighter hug, resting his chin against her head. "Laelia? Gladio? Stella? Alessa? Crowe? Tobin? Lasha? Olivia? Aeran?"

"Stella and Crowe went to Galahd before the sickness struck. With Swann. We thought they would be safer far away." Aulea looked upset. "We lost contact soon after. Laelia and Gladio have shown no signs of sickness, and Iris has been the only child yet born without it crawling down her throat to steal her away. Aeran vanished the same night you both did. I have not seen Alessa since the first spot of sickness. Tobin and Lasha are with the guard, Olivia.” She turned slightly to indicate a tall, dark haired girl standing near the boy. “We have been prisoner here." Her face was a mask of misery.

"I have won your freedom." Ardyn said softly, reaching to touch her shoulder. "We will leave as soon as all can be gathered."

Relief darkened the Queen's face for a moment before sorrow stole it away. "And Regis?"

"We were not allowed it bargain for him. I am sorry."

Aulea nodded, sighing. “I knew but…he lives?”

He hesitated a moment too long, and her face closed completely around her sorrow. “I see. Very well.”

*~*

There were thankfully a number of guard and former glaive happy to jump to his orders and secure transports for the few hundred they had under their guard. His niece and nephew among them. Lasha gave him a brief hug, but her brother offered only a quick, blank faced salute before springing to follow orders and tend to whatever he was told.

It was an exhausting night that felt like it had no end, but by the time dawn arrived on the city he had the silent citizens of Lucis loaded into the transports, and had knelt to hug Noctis to him. 

The boy had a scar that nearly matched Luna’s, though it had not impacted his vision, and his leg was in a brace that held it straight. 

“The fever twisted it.” A boy he didn’t know informed him helpfully. “He can walk – somewhat. But it pains him to go for very long.”

“Tenabrean?” He guessed, based on the lingering accent. 

The boy flushed. “Yes, Marshal. I am Ignis, I was appointed to help prince Noctis.”

He nodded briefly. “Good to meet you, Ignis. Keep an eye on him as we leave the city, I don’t trust those in power to let us leave gently.”

“You think they will do more?” Noctis asked, dropping his hand to one of the wheels on the chair to make it stop moving. 

“I cannot know, little prince, I can but take caution in this as all things.” He ruffled Noctis’ hair fondly. “Can you be tough for me but swear to tell me if anything feels wrong?”

Noctis worked his jaw, but nodded his head. 

“Good man.” He put both hands on the boy’s shoulders, giving them a solid squeeze. “Can we load you up now?” 

Noctis nodded, returning his hand to his lap. 

“If I may, Marshal?” Ignis asked, taking control of the chair. “Where will we go?”

“Not sure yet. I’ve been gone for a bit. But we’ll figure it out.” 

He left the boys to get loaded up, finding Ardyn kneeling next to someone he didn’t know, hand smoothing away an injury. “There now, let me know if the fever returns. But she should be good now.”

“Thank you, prince.” The young man sitting next to the woman said softly. “We are humbled by your care.”

Ardyn made a faint face. “Humble yourself by surviving, my boy. I know you both can.” He nodded to the guard who lifted her into the truck, mopping at his forehead with the back of his arm.

“Have you rested at all?” He asked critically. 

“Oh, I will only admit to that if you have.” Ardyn teased, turning. “They’re small hurts – minor injuries and illnesses, secondary due to their confinement. I tax myself no more than you do.”

He huffed. “We’re almost ready, the guard are taking care of getting most of the civilians loaded. We’ve enough weapons to keep us safe from any raiders. If there are any raiders.” 

“Fuel?” Ardyn asked, stepping closer to him, hands grazing his arm.

“Less than we need, more than I’d hoped for. We’ll check to see if any hasn’t been polluted in the city, but we should make it to the nearest safe outpost before we run out.” He settled an arm around his prince’s waist. “How are you doing?”

“Well enough, I suppose, about as well as I suspected I would be. The darling child is sleeping, and looks as though she has been burning the candle rather brightly at both ends.”

“Is that where your cloak is?” He murmured, leaning into the warmth and presence.

“Your cloak, and yes. She’s rather hard to find when you drape it around her as I did. But she seems to like that. She sleeps in the front of the truck you indicated we would be riding in.” Ardyn sighed softly, wrapping arms briefly around him. “I shall be glad to be gone from this place. The sorrows here are thick.”

“Mhm.” He agreed, turning slightly to press lips against his cheek. “We’ll go soon. You can climb up with Luna, if you want. I’ve got to keep eyes on Noctis.” 

“I spoke to him earlier. He seems rather grim compared to the happy toddler I remember.” Ardyn looked sad. “But I suppose I cannot truly blame him for that. I will join Luna, but I hope you will also join us soon.” The kiss was a gentle one, barely more than a press of mouths against mouth, and then his prince was striding towards the truck and Titus was at his side providing a list of where everyone was.

The man was proving invaluable, considering they had never quite gotten along before. Whatever shadow had clung to him had vanished in the years they had traveled, erased by whatever had befallen him. 

By afternoon, they had cleared the city, and Ardyn slept curled up in the cab next to him.

He had no idea what would come next, but he knew they would go there together.


	45. Chapter 45

Three weeks later he settled himself on the shore of one of the many hot springs near the Ravatogh Outpost with the intent of making a jacket.

It had been a skill Clarus had insisted that he learn in his teens - insisted because there was no better way to learn how to repair gear than to make it. He had never been particularly good at it, but he could manage simple things and basic repairs.

Clarus had been very sure he would need it someday. Like cooking and keeping house, they were things he felt he had to hold onto.

He had cut the pieces and the liner out, took the scrap of braided fabric that held Regis' blood and set off by himself.

The steam and the heat were calming. Relaxing, even. Soothing the anxious bits of his soul into true quiet as he worked, entirely focused on his task but not really thinking about it.

He drifted in the steam, mind leaving his body behind until he became aware of things in the fog, trees growing rapidly, rain falling, a man and woman coupling violently, though he could not be sure why he assigned either of them a gender, just that he knew the pair heaving in the mist were a male and a female.

In the dreamlike state it did not seem odd to know them this way, to see them as parts of the vision.

"Life." A soft voice said next to him. "Is very much like that. Violent and quick and all too soon over."

He nodded, watching the female claw at her belly until creatures sprang forth from her loins. Big, small, familiar and monstrous. Until at last something human crawled free of her.

"So the world came to be." The voice told him. "So humans came to be, along with all of her other creations. So they came, and became many."

His eyes fluttered and his body swayed, but a hand caught and held him. The mist danced in accordance to his words.

One of the humans spread wings, stretching until it towered above, another threw something - saddle, his mind supplied - I've the back of a horse. Still others changed shape and became different. A wraith like dog approached him, so near he could almost touch it. Bit his hands were busy.

"So we came to be."

"Uncle Cor?" 

He came back to himself like a lightning bolt, with a jolt that shot down his spine and made his hands cramp up. 

"What are you doing?" Noctis asked, flopping down next to him. He eased his leg down into the hot water with a sigh.

He had been moving better since they'd gotten here. The mineral water was apparently good for his leg. He could make his way around with a crutch now and was making noises like he wanted to try the cane soon. 

"Uncle Cor?" Noct prompted, giving him a little nudge with his elbow.

He shook his head. "Making a jacket."

"Seems like you're done." Noct poked the leather on his lap.

It wasn't what he had intended to make. He had been sewing with black thread - and still had some on his needle - but the thread in the leather was silver where it wasn't another color, and the stitches were elegant and ornamental, forming words and pictures up and down the arms. Writing. Words. Words he couldn't read. "Suppose I am." He ran his fingers to the shoulder, where the scrap of dirty fabric had also transformed into something that felt soft against and hand and was dyed an odd blue 

"I didn't know you could sew like that." Noctis said quietly. "Luna keeps trying to teach me but I'm really bad at it."

He had not known he could make something like this either. "It's a good skill to learn. Clarus made sure to teach me. I am sure Gladio at least knows leatherwork. Where is your chair, Noct?"

The impish smile reminded him painfully of Regis. "With Ignis."

"And where is Ignis?" He pressed.

Noctis shrugged.

"Noct you are only just getting your feet under you. You can't wander off by yourself, it isn't safe." He could almost feel Clarus laughing at him for repeating the oft taught lesson.

Noctis rolled his eyes. "There's guards all over the Outpost. Nothing is going to happen to me."

He sighed deeply, putting his hand on Noctis' head.

The kid scrunched his shoulders up, fingering something in his pocket.

"Can you promise to at least let someone know where you are going?" He asked, finally.

Noct thought about it for a moment, but nodded. "Mom gets mad."

"She worries. You're the only one here that she can worry over. She'll calm down about it eventually."

Noctis nodded again, heaving a deep sigh. "I wish I'd gone with the girls." He took something out of his pocket, rubbing his fingers over it.

"What that?" He asked, though he already knew the answer 

Noctis looked briefly ashamed. "Dad gave it to me. So I wouldn't have bad dreams anymore. Before. Before everything happened. I don't know if it does any good. Everything feels like a bad dream. It's probably stupid to hold onto it."

"I don't think it is. Even when he was a grown up that thing always went on the glove box and sat on a table every time we camped. Didn't feel right to sleep without it keeping watch." He dropped his hand to Noctis' shoulder, rubbing gently. "I am glad he gave it to you."

Noctis teared up a bit, hugging the little figurine to his chest. "I didn't want him to go." His heart sank because he knew Noctis didn't just mean Clarus, or even Regis. Noctis meant every life lost in Lucis, because he had lain them all unfairly at his feet. Regis sure knew how to pass that whole weight of the world thing down.

He pulled the kid against his side gently, rubbing his shoulders. Tough kid, rarely shed a tear even on bad knee days. But still a kid. Too young for all of this. For everything the gods had put on him. "I didn't either." He admitted softly. "But I'm glad you're still here."

Noctis sniffled. "How come I'm so important, Uncle Cor? Why's it everyone else that has to suffer cause of me?"

"I wish I knew, kid." He pressed a kiss to the top of the messy head. "I wish I knew. But what I do know is that none of this is your fault."

"How?" Noct asked quietly, voice full of doubt.

"Because you're a kid, and the most you're responsible for is giving Ignis panic attacks by vanishing. Not for the fact that the gods are trying to pull you into their war." He tapped Noctis chest gently with his fingertip. "Don't let them. You are Noctis. Just Noctis. Not anything else they want to claim you as."

Noctis bit his lip. "But they killed...everyone. Except me."

"They killed. Remember that part. You didn't kill anyone. The only lives you are responsible for are the ones you take." He was doomed to repeat Clarus' advice until the day he died. It ached, it pulled at his chest. 

But he could see that it had the same impact on Noctis that it had on him.

Noctis nodded slowly, shifting against his side. They were quiet and together for a little while, settled on the black sand. "I like it here."

"Me too." He gave the boy a squeeze. "We should get back before you give Ignis and your mom anymore grey hairs."

Noctis nodded. "Can you carry me?"

He looked at the kid. "Leg cramping?"

"No!" Noctis said, too quickly. "I just don't wanna walk."

"Right. I will carry you if you admit you overdid it."

Noctis made a face. "...I overdid it, Uncle Cor. Please carry me?"

"And next time we use our chair?" 

Unhappily, Noct nodded, pocketing the Carbuncle and lifting his arms. He slid the jacket on and stashed his sewing supplies, slinging the crutch over his back before he scooped up the kids and sat off back to the Outpost.

 

*~* 

He was not sure which part was more relaxing, the heat of the water turning his his muscles to liquid or the security of Ardyn's arms around his waist.

He had been getting restless, the need to keep moving taking hold of him.

But right now that urge was distant and his body was so very relaxed.

Ardyn had his chin tucked against his shoulder, lifting occasionally only to trail kisses over and down his shoulders. He could feel a soft hum of desire - muted, because Ardyn was always careful to keep it thus - over the shield bond.

"You can if you want." He offered, distant and sleepy.

Ardyn chuckled softly against his shoulder. "I wish you knew how tempting that thought is, Cor, but no. I will not."

He hmmed, nuzzling back into his prince. "You could try to show me?" He felt lazy, contented. If it would make Ardyn happy he would be happy with it. 

"I could try." Ardyn mused, hands kneading gently against his stomach.

"Cat." He caught one of the hands, fingers lacing through. "I trust you."

"Oh, Cor." Affection tinged the bond. "You make me feel terribly base in my desires at times."

He snorted. "Only as 'base' as everyone else in this world. It's not that bad. Try me, if I don't like what you show me we can stop."

Ardyn gave a little gusty sigh against his shoulder. "Close your eyes. I can try to show you the world through my eyes."

He relaxed further in Ardyn's arms, letting his eyes close. 

All he saw at first was darkness, desire curling around him. It was a strange things, desire. Almost like a craving. A wanting for a taste of something, a sample that tempted. It made him hungry, a gnawing feeling in his stomach. 

He huffed. "I am not food." 

Ardyn laughed softly, fingers smoothing down his stomach. “Hush, I am trying to focus.” 

“I thought the point was to not focus?” He returned, touching the back of Ardyn’s hand. 

“Mhm. Relax. I am trying. This is more difficult to explain than it seems.” Ardyn pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. 

He made himself still trying to relax his mind to accept images. Images were the hardest thing to transfer between them. Feelings were easy, words required some effort. But to see the world through the other’s eyes? To experience from the other person? They had not reached that yet. 

He got a brief view of his own back as he stepped into the water, with the feeling of a gaze that lingered on the curve of his spine, the way the muscles flexed. There was the hungry feeling again, a gnawing deep in his gut. Distracting, but less distracting that the view of his back. 

His feet hit the bottom of the pool and he jerked away. “What’s all over my back? What the hell are those?” 

“Tattoos, I would say.” Ardyn sounded amused and only slightly put out.

He fumbled to press a hand against his own spine, tracing down the smooth skin. “Where did they come from? Who wrote on me this time?!” 

Ardyn’s gaze had revealed something he had been unaware of – not the reason behind desire, the hunger made him feel like eating food, not engaging in activities – tattoos. Plural. Changing the shape of his back entirely. The first and largest was some sort of bird, black wings cast wide, letters written in the swirls of the feathers. The wings spread from shoulder to shoulder. 

The next was smaller, near his hip, and appeared to be an orb full of a swirling mist. And the last – the last confused him. A ring, golden and bright, bound with a green ribbon, with a castle in the center of the circle. 

“The hell?” He couldn’t feel anything. There was just skin, but Ardyn could see them. “How long have those been there?!” 

“The ring and the raven were on you when we left the underworld, the orb has been there for some time.” Ardyn was floating in the water, appearing lazy. “I do not know why you are surprised on this.”

He sunk into the water, grumbling, good mood spoiled. “None of them ask.” 

“They’re gods, why would you imagine they would ask?” Ardyn asked. “Are you going to try to rip your skin off, because I am afraid I must stop you if that is so.” 

He settled down resentfully into the water, leaning against his prince. “I don’t like this. I don’t even know who they are.” 

Ardyn sighed, pulling him back into his arms and settling his chin back on his shoulder. “The point, my dear shield, is that they very much know who you are. That is the meaning behind the marks.” Another kiss was pressed to his shoulder, gentler, soothing his temper. “I think they look good on you.” 

He sighed, trying to make himself relax again. 

“I think we need to climb the mountain.” He muttered, finally, still simmering with resentment. 

“I am certain that we must, but not tonight.” Ardyn told him. “Relax, or you’ll be old before your time.” 

He blew bubbles into the water. 

Ardyn laughed at him, pulling him near. 

He yielded, at least for the moment. The restlessness was back, the need to go, to find. The mountain – and Ifrit’s grave – waited for them. 

But for now he could be here, mostly, and delight in the sense of shared humor over the bond.


	46. Chapter 46

Clarus’ lastborn child had been born after his death. She was the youngest and probably happiest member of the community the Lucian refugees were forming here. The entire group doted on her and looked after her – which was good, because she had no fear. There had been no other children born after her, there was no one in the group really that was younger than Noctis. He seemed to be the cutoff point – where most children were solemn and wore the scars of the ashwing on their face. 

She was currently building sandcastles next to one of the springs, tongue poked out as she concentrated on the black sand. Her mother was keeping watch over Ignis and Noctis, but the baby was always kept in reach.

If he was honest with himself, he had been avoiding her. Both the child and her mother. It soured in his chest, the grief churning through him. 

Laelia glanced up as he approached, giving him a wane smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He wondered suddenly if she had seen it – Aulea would barely speak of it, the sacrifice. But had Laelia been there as well? Had Clarus known that she was pregnant? Clarus had always been the one among them that wanted a huge family. The only son of an only son, who had wanted nothing more than to fill his house with siblings. He had gotten his wish, and he mourned the fact that this fifth child would never know her father. 

He sank down next to her, studying the toddler. “She’s cute.”

“She’d be in the spring with them if I’d let her, and she wants to eat the sand.” Laelia stroked her daughter’s hair with a sad smile. “She’ll be as wild as the rest once she figures out how to run.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been avoiding you.” He admitted, looking down at the kids. “It’s…hard.”

“I’ve been avoiding you too.” Laelia admitted. “Even when you were a kid, you were his shadow. Seeing you and knowing he’s not here…it’s hard.” 

“I saw him.” He said quietly. “In the underworld.”

“Aulea told me.” Laelia’s smile faded. 

“I…” He plucked a stone out of the sand, trying to find some way to break the silence that wouldn’t end up with him with his foot in his mouth. 

“He choose it, in the end.” Laelia said softly, finally. “It’s not your fault, or Regis’ fault, or Noctis or Aulea’s faults. Or anyone else who wants to take responsibility for the fact that my husband was a hero to his last breath, and he would do anything for a child. More for his prince. So please don’t diminish him by apologizing for not being able to save him.” 

He blew out a breath, unable to stop the burn in his eyes. He lifted his hands to wipe the tears away. 

Laelia was stone-faced and quiet, hand on her daughter. “This whole situation is fucked, Cor. So many kids died. So fucking many. When Iris was born – I…I thought I was going to lose her too. But there was nothing. She never even coughed. They took him, but they gave me a healthy baby when everyone else was burying their children almost as soon as they drew breath. I hated him for a little while, for leaving me in a world gone to ruin. But I got over it. I loved him. I still do. I know you loved him too.”

“He made me who I am.” He whispered. 

She grimaced. “You made you, Cor. He was only there to cheer you on. You give him more credit than he was due. He lucked out, he saw potential and he encouraged it. Nobody knew you’d turn out to be this much of a pain in the ass.” 

He huffed a laugh. 

Her smile was as brittle as glass. “We can’t all be Cor Leonis, but I don’t think anyone else could survive the things you do. But please, please. Remember. You are only responsible for the lives you take, not the lives you weren’t there to save.”

He nodded. “I came over intending to comfort you, Lae.”

“I don’t need it. I’ve cried out all my tears.”

Iris looked up at her, poking her lower lip out. “Cry?”

“No, sweetling. No cry.” 

Iris scrambled to her feet and patted her mother’s cheeks, giving her a clumsy hug. 

Laelia kissed the side of her head. “What do you think of the prince and his ‘advisor’?”

“I think the kid is too young for taking on responsibility of a tiny prince. But Regis probably had some thought about them growing up together.” He shrugged. “The royal family.”

Laelia chuckled. “He acts like half an adult, orphan himself. He had an uncle on the council but, well.”

He nodded. “Kid miss him?”

“I don’t think they had much of a relationship outside of Tobias deciding that he made a good candidate for the position. Parents died in Tenebrea during one of the raids on the resistance outposts. He gets along with Noctis well, with Gladio too.” Laelia’s gaze was critical. She had been a soldier for many years before they’d had Gladio and she’d simi-retired. But she still had the mind of a soldier and the body of a fighter. She wouldn’t let any harm come to them. He knew that. She was as much a protector of the royal family as he was. 

“Good. At least we can give them a bit of peace here.” He watched the kids, Noctis sitting on the ledge of the pool, legs stretched out, Ignis wading deeper into the pool to retrieve odd colored rocks for Noctis to look at. 

“I wasn’t sure about this. Until we got here.” Laelia had the baby mostly in her lap now. “I think it’s doing well for people. There’s hope again. Tentative, but there.” 

He scrubbed at his head with his hand. “I’m going to have to leave soon. We’re going to find a way out of this.”

Laelia gave him a sideways look, wry, tired. “I figured as much. But there’s not much here that will bother us. We can keep him safe.”

“And yourselves.” 

“So where are you going?” Laelia asked, letting Iris plop herself back down to play with the sand. 

“Up the volcano, first. Hoping we can find something that we can use…after that, maybe Galahd? Check on the girls and Swann. Not really sure from there.” He admitted. 

“I won ten gil off Aulea. I knew you’d be headed up that Volcano. It has that ‘challenge’ look about it that you boys were never able to resist.” She smiled brightly. “Be safe, Cor. You still have something to come back to. We need you here.”

“I will.” He touched her shoulder. 

She looked up at him for a moment, smile fading. 

They sat like that for a moment, connected through the soft touch, before he stood to go, leaving her to look after the boys and her daughter. 

~*~

The knife clinked as it landed too close to the last one he had thrown. He was going to need to clear the target if he wanted to keep going. He eyed the bucket at his feet, still half full of the slender throwing knives he had been using. Noctis had pulled them out of the Armiger for him – the kid could use it, but he couldn’t. Which meant he was entirely limited to what he could carry.

Bahamut was a petty bastard. It meant he was thinking about what he was packing for the first time in his life. 

He had only a prickle of warning before a knife embedded itself a mere inch from the tip of his boot. 

He jerked back on reflex, hand falling to his sword. 

Someone – female – was perched on his target, admiring another of the knives she had pulled out of the wooden poll he had planted for target practice. 

A kid who looked around Noctis’ age was perched on a rock behind her, and looked impressed. 

She lined up the shot again, and he stood perfectly still as to not dodge back into the path of it. It landed in front of the other boot. “What do you want?”

She shrugged, hopping down from her perch. “You’re him.” 

“Huh?” He stared at her, unable to track down the reason she seemed familiar. He was pretty sure he would have remembered seeing her. 

“The one I see. The one who sees me.” She stalked closer, smooth steps carrying her efficiently across the space to him. “I have seen you since I was a child.” She stopped just inside his personal space, golden eyes studying him intently. “I never thought to meet you in person. Yet here you are.”

“The girl from the labs.” He said, slowly, studying her in turn. Pale hair had been cut short so many times and was just beginning to grow out. “In Nifelheim.”

“It’s so strange, you were always trying to touch me there. Calling out to my brothers.” She tilted her head to the side and reached to seize his hand, drawing it to cup her face. 

He let her, eyes darting to the boy who was perched on the stone, and then back to the girl. “Where is Ravus?”

“Waiting, elsewhere. With our little brother.” She closed her eyes, leaning on his hand, shoulders relaxing as she rubbed her cheek against it like a cat. 

“Did you escape?” He asked her gently. 

“Mhm. When people started dying, they forgot about us. Even him. But not our father.” Her voice was soft, silky, relaxed. 

“Ifrit.” He had seen her for so many years he was almost as amazed to feel flesh under his fingers as she seemed to be. 

“Yes. He saved us. The other brought us, thinking we would guard him. We will, for now.” She hmmed, letting his hand dropped. “But when I searched, I came to you. Why? Who are you?”

“My name is Cor Leonis. Yours?” 

Her eyes danced with humor. “I7821-295-867.”

“You have a name.” Oddly, her response made his chest warm with affection.

“Aranea, if you please.” She smiled, turning to the boy. “Come, Loqi, he doesn’t bite.”

The boy scrambled to his feet and came to meet them. The same yellow eyes gazed out from the smaller face, intent on him. The boy took his hand as well, rubbing his cheek against it.

He allowed it, curious more than he was alarmed. “Who else is with you?”

“Prince.” Loqi stated, letting his hand drop. 

“Which prince?” He asked, confused. “Ravus?”

Loqi grimaced. “Ravus ain’t a prince.”

“Janus.” Aranea answered. “Something or another. When the man died, he came to take us.” 

Trust. He could almost feel the heady choice by these wild, Astral spawned children. They were choosing to trust him more than anyone else with them. “Is he waiting with Ravus?”

Aranea smiled brightly, teeth too sharp. “Come.” She took his hand again, dragging him in her wake. 

He went.


	47. Regis Interlude

There was no comfort, if he stretched out enough that his legs could support some of his weight, his shoulders screamed, if he didn’t, his shoulders screamed. There was no way to adequately support himself without feeling like his body was tearing itself apart. 

It was the intent behind this, he was sure. A reminder that he was helpless, at the mercy of the gods who had chosen him. 

Chosen him for what? Chosen him why? He had no idea. He just knew he had been chosen, and this was his fate.

Sylva – whatever remained of her – did not move lest she was needed. Did not speak, unless she was spoken through. She was less a companion than a reminder. 

A reminder of their master, and of the purpose he had been chosen to fulfill. And Noctis, who he knew was intended to be sacrificed so that Bahamut could rule the skies. At first he had mourned, but as the time went on it merely settled into his gut like a scar. Like the scar at the end of his Shield bond, the empty space where Clarus had always been. 

Cor’s visit had been a blessing and a curse, reminding him of a time when there had been something more to his existence than the sickly light burning through him. But it had reminded him also of Clarus, and what he had allowed be done to save his son. What game he had allowed Bahamut to play with them. He had failed his kingdom, he had failed his friends. There was nothing left for him, no hope for anything. Not even Cor’s return. Perhaps Cor would let him die. Perhaps that would be enough. 

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back to the limit of the gag, trying to force his mind into sleep. He dozed, at times, and found that dozing was so much easier. He could drift for hours and days with nothing but his dreams to torment him.

He who had always been active, inquisitive, curious was now bound in silence, in pain, in the very place he had led his kingdom from.

Bahamut’s kingdom now, a kingdom of the dead and Daemons. 

The doors opened and he slowly lifted his head to stare at it, uncertain who dared to enter the sanctuary. 

The heavy armored figure walked to the center of the throne room, sinking down to sit on the floor in front of him, extending his legs out. 

Incredulous, he stared at the founder king, not certain he meant what he was doing.

He couldn’t see the throne, it was above and behind and he was strung quite deliberately so that he couldn’t look towards the crystal and Sylva, but he sensed no movement or presence. No unnatural coldness that followed the being Cor had named ‘Lethe’. Still he hesitated, before swinging one leg and then the other to rest on the armored boots. 

The relief of the pressure on his shoulders brought tears to his eyes, legs trembling a bit as they took all of his weight. How long had it been? How long had he hung suspended? 

Somnus did not move, sat utterly silent on the ground. 

Perhaps he was also gagged, unable. The Lucii seemed to be entirely under Bahamut’s control. He had noted that when Clarus died, the way that Somnus had stood, stiffly, how he had moved with every limb straight, crossing the throne room as though he moved through something heavy. The only time he hadn’t hesitated was when the sword came down. 

A small mercy, he supposed. Because Clarus had not suffered for even a moment. His horror had not been mitigated by that fact. Nor the loss dampened, but he had seen how Somnus had struggled with the command of their master. 

He drew a deep breath through his nose, wiggling his fingers a bit as the blood flow turned from pain to pinpricks and numbness. Feeling, at last. Something close to it. 

He tried to express the gratitude in his gaze, looking down at the mask. 

Somnus was silent. 

He let himself drift back into dozing, leaning his head against his arm as he rested. He slept deeper than he thought he was capable of anymore, balanced on the armor. He did not know how long he slept, but Somnus moved and he woke, cradled in the arms of the armor. 

Somnus plucked the gag out of his mouth. 

He gasped and arched, coughing on the blood from the broken scabs. “Wha-wha?”

“Rest.” The armor murmured, still holding him. 

He squinted. “Why?”

“Just rest.” Somnus repeated, voice echoing within the armor. 

He stared up at the figure, debating protesting, but the relief of the pain in his mouth and the pain in his body was too much of a salve on his battered soul. He knew there would likely be a payment for this, that the cost would be high for both of them. But he could not resist the chance. 

He let Somnus hold him, using the armored shoulder as a pillow as sleep claimed him.

This time, there were no dreams. No memories. Just a deep, pleasant darkness that enveloped him completely. 

Perhaps it was cowardly, but for a little while he could escape the ruin of his life.


	48. Chapter 48

The prince rose as they walked up on them, but his eyes were really for Ravus and the boy – Silver? – curled up against his knee. Aranea was a wild thing, and Loqi only slightly less, but Ravus looked entirely feral sitting guard over their smallest sibling. 

“Cor Leonis, you’re a hard man to find.” Prince Janus offered his hand, and he took it. 

“I wasn’t aware I was being looked for.” He returned the shake, still staring at Ravus. He had grown, no longer the little boy who had flung himself at him with wild abandoned, who had giggled and curled up in the bed to chatter about things he had seen during the day until he drifted off to sleep. 

His heart ached. Even the eyes had changed, the same yellow gold that Aranea’s were at the moment. Would they shift back if he relaxed? What was he to tell Ravus about his mother? Did he remember his sister? Gods above, this was too cruel. 

“Well, you seem to be the one who knows what is happening.” 

“Not to the Nifs.” He finally looked at the prince, studying him intently. He was a tall man, but Aldercapt had been tall and sturdy in his day. He had his father’s coloring with sharp green eyes that missed nothing at all. He wore armor, but it was a much scarred and patchy thing, not the glory of imperials he had faced in the past.

“Well, we’re doing about as well as you are. Birthrates with surviving children have dropped to near zero, men, women, children burning to ash as they walk down the street.” Janus shrugged, lifting his hand to rub the back of his head. “The army is shattered. My father is dead, so is most of his council.” 

“So king, then, not prince?” He hazarded. “Only one without a kingdom.”

Janus snorted. “Well, you are out here, and I know the Lucis prince is here as well. What remains of him. Did the fever really burn him simple, or is that an uncouth rumor?”

“Noctis is fine.” He didn’t bristle, letting his gaze drift over the force. “How many have you? And Ifrit?”

“Ifrit remains in the lab, I did not want to risk his temper. Though the Adunato insist that he would have only helped us. We number but a few hundred, though more of the army waits my command.” Janus glanced at Ravus and Silver as he said the word, making it clear what he was speaking of. Aranea sank down next to her brothers, Loqi joining Silver between Ravus’ knees with a yawn and a lean. 

Silver for his part did not seem to mind.

Were they older than Noctis? Younger? Clearly unmarked by the ashwing virus, clearly healthier than most of the children he had seen. But here, safe, at last. 

Ravus was free of those who had taken him.

“And Bethesia?” He asked, slow, careful.

“Alive, we think, though really he has gone almost entirely mad these past years. The virus gives him fits, and some of the creatures…” Janus shuddered, shaking his head. “Best we not speak of them.”

“So what are you here for? To offer me your service? To ask something of us?” He asked, finally turning to face the prince again. 

“I think we…hesitate to join our fates to yours. Who knows what will come of this. But perhaps a truce would best fit our needs. This virus does not care whose skin it eats, from noble to orphan. With only the Adunato immune.” Janus spoke like a prince, carefully navigating the conversation. Or like a king, he supposed, if the Emperor was in truth dead. 

“I can accept a truce, though the Queen would be a better person to speak with about that. What I want…” He kept his eyes on Ravus. “What I would like to demand is the return of someone your father stole.”

“The Adunato are a group, and they follow me as a convenience. So they keep reminding me.” Janus smiled ruefully. “If you wish them to follow you, it is them you must ask.” 

He looked directly at Ravus, hovering over the younger pair, and then to Aranea, who seemed to be the leader of the group more or less. “I cannot offer you much. I cannot even promice that I will be better than following him. But I offer you that freedom to choose, and the promise that I work towards freedom.” 

“Our father is uncertain of you.” Aranea murmured. “You have walked the paths to us, you have fretted over us all of our lives. Yet you refuse service.”

He inclined his head. “I’m going up the volcano. Tomorrow. You’re welcome to attend.”

Ravus and Aranea exchanged a thoughtful look, and both nodded. 

“Come back with me to the outpost.” He told the prince. “You can speak to the queen. The two of you will work out terms. Luna is there.”

Ravus brightened a very small amount, clearly interested in that topic. 

The prince looked amused, more than anything. “You work them well. I have heard of you, Cor Leonis. I wonder what the future we work for will look like?”

*~*

Luna’s muffled cry as Ravus walked into the outpost would stay with him for the rest of his life. She had been a quiet thing, so quiet, barely daring to breathe since they had rescued her. He knew Ardyn worked with her, loved on her and doted on her. She was the last of his little ones to remain by his side and it hurt to see her in such a state. 

Ravus knelt, taking his sister into his arms with a throaty, possessive noise that reminded him of a dog guarding a bone. 

Luna wept, face burrowed against his shoulder, so tiny and frail next to him that she looked like a child half her own age. 

Ardyn appeared at his side, watching them, intent, worried, but smiling when Ravus lifted his head and crossed the small space to him. 

He clung to both children, murmuring softly for only them to hear. 

It felt like an accomplishment, almost more than bringing the Nifs to work out a truce – after a generations long war had been fought, embittering both sides. 

Ardyn had the kids. Ardyn was with them again, his strange children. The fey creatures that moved around him and touched his coat, Silver burrowing up under it to snuggle against him, Loqi examining his hands. 

He left the Adunato to Ardyn, trusting his partner to tend to them, to introduce them to the other children. 

He brought Janus to Aulea, who gave him a look that said he tested her patience, but fell easily into the pattern of negotiations and pleasantries. 

It was duty, and it warred with his own desire to move, to keep moving. To see this thing done so that he could stop.

Only he wasn’t sure he knew how to stop. The outpost increasingly felt like a prison, the urging at the back of his mind insisting that he needed to move, that time was moving too quickly for him to pause. 

He found himself back in the room that he and Ardyn shared, digging through his pack, and fishing through the items. He found the coin pouch and counted out the strange coins, making piles of them on the coverlet. There were thirty-seven coins. Seven gold, twenty silver, and six copper coins. Nothing remarkable about them except that they were not a currency he knew. They felt heavy and warm in his hand. He put them back, lifted the heart. Felt its weight in his hands. 

Then he repacked his bag, foodbars and sleeping mats. Light, he was packing incredibly light. But it felt right. The cloak, his jacket, a small bundle of throwing knives. A basic first aid kit. His sword, both knives. The one he had recovered from Gilgamesh and the one he had stolen from Lethe. Fire starter, water purification. A flask with something stronger, a gift from Laelia. It had been Clarus’, one he was family with. Every dent and scratch. He had tasted his first alcohol from this flask, they had shared it over long watches. It had never been far from Clarus’ side his entire life. The eagle on it was the crest of his family. By rights, it should be Gladio’s or Tobin’s. But Laelia had given it to him. 

It was a piece of his brother to be carried with him. 

He drew an unsteady breath, rubbing his fingers over the cool metal. 

They would need to go soon. He had to go soon, even if no one else came with him. He had to finish this before anything else was lost. 

He shook his head, trying to clear the urging. Not sure where the sudden need to move had come from. He gripped at his arm, trying to push the feeling down. He had been fine the morning? Why-

It was almost anticlimactic when the vision leapt up, dragging him into it. Almost a relief. 

*~* 

He walked down a twisting corridor, lit only by the torch in his hand. Around him, others pressed close. Desperate. 

“Are you certain?” Someone asked behind him. “Aster, are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be in this world.” He turned to look at the woman, cloak clutched around her face. “If he rests here, we must fine him. Our king deserves this.”

“Deserves what?” One of the men behind her snarled. “He betrayed us to the rest, didn’t he?”

“No. No.” The woman was shaking her head. “They took that blow. They blocked it. All of them, save the dragon. It is him we should fear.” 

“Hush.” He whispered, turning to face the corridor that spiraled out from them. There was a sense within him, a deep yearning he had been unable to shake. The king was here, somewhere. He must find him. That these others followed him was not as important as finding their king. His king. The liege lord he was sworn to. 

He knew his king was here, that his king lived. 

He pressed on, not listening to the bickering behind him, and then – at last – the caravan opened up and there lay his king. Ifrit lay prone, head rocked back into the stone as though he had fallen from a great height – from what observations of the battle had been had, he must have. His crown lay some meters from his head, and his clothes were ripped to rags. 

He scrambled forward to kneel at the side of the fallen giant, hands pressed to still warm skin. The chest rose one, and fell even more slowly. He slept, deeply, but he lived. That was a relief. The kingship bands he wore were untarnished. Very quietly and quickly, he started to unpack his bag. Anointing the king with oils, draping him with a finely woven wrap. Who knew how long he would sleep, but he should sleep as a king. 

Not as a common thief. 

He hmmed as he worked, soft breathy catches as he moved around his king, whispering what had befallen them. The cities had fallen, the people had fled. But they lived, oh they lived. Thousands yet lived despite the betrayal. Thousands. Life would return to the savage lands, they would rebuild in his image. 

There was a rumble behind him, and he turned. 

Someone screamed, but the rocks were falling to bury most of those who had followed him. A wash of blood spread across the ground. 

He was sealed in. Sealed in with his king. 

He could taste the blood in the air, feel the darkness pressing close around him. He touched the crystal that hung around his neck, the symbol of his service. 

He did not fear death, but he would find a way to make this cave into a fitting tomb for his liege. To rest alongside his king would be the most fitting fate. 

*~*

He jerked back to himself with a gasp, nearly falling to the floor. The path they had walked…he knew it. He knew where the rockfall had been. Knew each twist and turn.

The heart in its case pulsed, and he shivered, confused. 

He needed to go. He needed to go or the entire mountain might come down to stop him. 

Bahamut would not pause, would not stop. 

He had to go.


	49. Chapter 49

He was prepared to travel lightly when he stepped outside, the cloak fanning out around him as he walked, hood down. He summoned Skip without a thought. When exactly had that become easy? When had it become so easy that he didn’t need to do more than think and have the horse there, waiting for him? 

There was still chatter and airships, it looked to be turning into a wild sort of party. The kind that embrolled the entire outpost. Nobody would notice his absence until the morning, and even then they might think he had slunk away for some other purpose. If he was lucky, he would have a days head start, and with Skip – well.

A few moments was all he needed with Skip. 

“Uncle Cor?” Noct’s voice was soft.

He paused, hands gripping Skip’s saddle, prepared to lift himself up. 

But Noct was there, leaning on the shorter cane he had fashioned for the kid to help him get around, lower lip trembling. His eyes were clear, no tears yet. But trembling, just a little. 

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Noct hobbled forward, leaning a bit more on the cane than he should. Probably overdid it again. He was eight, he wanted to be well and running again. Not babied and looked after by everyone.

“I have to.” He told the kid softly, still leaning on Skip. “I have to stop all of this, Noct.”

“Alone?” The little voice crackled, face pained. “Dad said you’re always going off by yourself.” The kid crashed against his side, wrapping arounds around his waist.

He stroked the back of his head. “I can’t take you with me, kid. There’s no way I could keep you safe out there. Your dad would skin me if I tried.”

Noct sniffled, pressing closer into his stomach, shoulders trembling. “I just…don’t go. Don’t go, Uncle Cor.”

He cradled the back of the kid’s head, not sure what to do. He had nothing to give him. No token, no promice. He was nothing but a servent. 

Skip snorted, pawing at the black sand, tossing his head a bit, making the charms dance in the air and catch the light. 

There was a token braided into Skip’s bridle, a flat metal disk strung on a red cord with a winged horse on the face of it.

“Thanks.” He muttered to the horse, carefully unbraiding it. He knelt down, showing it to Noct. “Listen. I have to go, kid. I have to. To keep you safe, to do what I can for your father…to put a stop to all of this.” 

He could feel the rush of a very female power from the metal disk as he folded it into Noct’s hand, a sense of knowing spreading through him. “But this time, if you need us. All you need is this. You hold that and need me and Skip will bring me right to you. Ok?”

Noct turned the metal disk in his hand. “What is it?”

“Pegasus.” He told Noct, surer than he felt that the word was right. “When Skip’s owner went into battle, he was surrounded by ladies who road them. Brave women who had no equal in the lands of mortal men. Swift as the lightening in the sky.” He tucked a strand of Noct’s hair back. “Carbuncle will protect you in the land of dreams, Pegasus will know when you need me and fly the message to me. No matter what.” 

Noct clutched the token tightly in his hand. “Last time you left everything went wrong.”

“This time, hopefully we can put everything back where it belongs.” He gave Noct’s shoulders a squeeze. “Trust me, kid, and trust Skip. He can take me anywhere in the world, and he will always know the way back to you as long as you have that.” 

“What about Uncle Ardyn? Shouldn’t he go with you?”

He bit his lip. “Shit. Kid…” 

Noctis narrowed his eyes. “You were going to sneak away.” 

“The place I’m going…He shouldn’t there.” He grimaced. “Trust me on this one.”

“Why, because you went to the afterlife without him?” Noctis challenged. “Dad said a king should never be without his shield, and a shield should never be without his king. That’s why everything went wrong in Lucis when Uncle Clarus died.” 

He winced, looking away. 

“Uncle Cor, you have to wait for him.” Noctis pressed.

The horrible thing was that what the kid was saying made a weird sort of sense, but it didn’t messure up the urging inside him to go now, without Ardyn at his side. To go up the mountain before all of this drew down the wrath of the dragon. 

“I’ll come back for him.” He promiced the boy, giving him a rough hug and swinging up onto Skip’s back before Noctis could protest further. 

“Unc-“ Was all Noctis managed to get out before he imaged the tomb from his vision as clearly as he could and they were gone, entombed almost entirely in blackness. 

Skip snorted, and one by one the torches lit. 

He locked eyes with a perfectly preserved corpse, so perfectly preserved that the red of his hair was still vibrant. 

The room was vast, with one wall crumbled inward completely, and the depression where Ifrit had lain criss-crossed with chains that writhed across the floor like living things. There were bones on the ground, piled into the corners as though someone had sought to neaten up the space. But unlike the corpse sitting across from the entrance not even rags remained. 

A closer look revealed teeth marks, the bones had been gnawed upon.

He gave a small shudder, turning in a slow circle around the room. The walls had been written on extensively, the glass tomb caught the light from above, giving the runes an almost three dimensional feel. 

How desprate must this final severant have been, sealed up in this tomb for two thousand years, consuming the meat from the bones of those who had followed him here. But it was clear that Besithia had not bothered the dead man. He walked slowly to him, studying the walls, reading the story without really processing. Skip snorted softly behind him, unhappy with being underground, but tolerating it for the moment.

He knelt infront of Aster, studying the face of the man who had been desprate to look after his king when he fell, trying to understand why he had been drawn here. 

An alter had been built, and pictures carved into the walls with a sure hand, colorless on the black stone, but sure in their composition. A being –he assumed Ifrit – leaning down with a brand held out to a man. Lightbringer. A city being built of molten gold, books, learning, people dancing. The first men had lived, and thrived. Ifrit was depected with another figure – Eos, he was sure – but he did not see any of the other gods. For the people of Sol, there had been only two. 

He studied the carvings, careful to stay out of range of the chains – they might be meant to hold an Astral, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He assumed they had been made by Bahamut, and Bahamut was not best pleased with him right now. 

There were stones on the alter, rubies and other gems. A small scroll that he considering picking up, but he changed his mind. This man had died to bring these things here. The jars and gems were grave goods and he had no want of any of it. 

That done and committed to memory the best he could, he turned to look at the man who had built all this. 

Aster was clothed, still, the dry, hot air had preserved that too. Had preserved everything about him. Including the fact that his hand was closed tightly around something. 

He prodded the tightly closed fist, uncertain, afraid to move it too roughly least he break the aged bones there. Eventually, he wiggled the small cloth wrapped bundle from his hand without harming it, revealing that he also had something in his lap beneath it. 

A bag, made cleverly enough of a fine silver chain. Skip nosed at it, so he picked it up, ready to open it and study the contents. 

The mountain rumbled around them. 

A chill crept down his spine, the unknown object shoved into his pocket and his hand finding Skip’s bridle.

“Bahamut?” He asked the horse. 

Skip pinned his ears back, hoof striking sparks on the stone. “Right. We have what we need.” He took a step back just as the corpse lunged for his legs. 

He screamed, even as he fought free of brittle bones. The man was rasping something, though his mind was at first too panicked to process the hissed sounds as words. 

The chains lunged at him –at Skip, because Skip was his escape. “Get us out!” He shouted at the horse, gripping the saddle as tightly as he could when a bag of bones was trying to drag him down and give the chains acess. “Skip! Go! Damnit!” 

Skip screamed and reared up as one of the chains brushed close, and then with a flicker that felt more compressed than usual they were elsewhere – the mountain still rumbled around them, but they were no longer in the grave.

There was still a zombie clinging to his legs, rasping words that he couldn’t understand. 

“Maduin! Maduin!” He snapped. “Moogle, damnit!” He finally managed to get free of the bones, heaving himself over Skip’s shoulder to stay out of range. 

The corpse continued to clatter, reaching around for something. “My king….My king…”

“They took him. I’m sorry.” He told the zombie. 

“Gone.” The zombie muttered. “Gone. I must…I must prepare him. I must prepare him.” 

He tightened his grip on Skip’s mane, the horse backed up several paces, blowing and clearly unhappy with the entire situation. 

“What were you preparing him for?” He asked, finally, when the zombie didn’t lunge at him again. 

The zombie was silent.

“Aster?” He asked, dubious. 

“We cannot lose.” Aster muttered to himself. 

Really, with the amount of talking to the dead he was doing lately he felt like he deserved at least some commendation. He had never been trained to comfort dead things. “I am going to free him.” 

The zombie lifted his head, but did not answer. 

He sighed, lifting the bag and pulling it open. Within were the bottles he had seen, their contents probably long spoiled, a small book, tightly bound with golden pages, and a mirror. 

He was almost afraid to touch the book, for fear it might crumble. He unwrapped the scrap of fabric from the object Aster had been holding. A small ring of silver keys, and a ring. A very plain ring with symbols carved into it. He held it up to his hand to guess the size, but didn’t put it on.

It almost reminded him of the ring of Lucii, he had seen it up close often enough. The only difference was the ring was silver with a red stone, not the black of the Lucii ring. A copy? But how had Aster gotten it? Or rather, how had Ifrit gotten it? 

“Lightbringer, guide us. We are lost.” Aster muttered to himself. “The darkness comes, guide us free.” 

What followed had the sound of prayer, desperate and fervent, and then the zombie simply…stopped. He did not crumble, he just folded to the ground and was still again. 

He sat the horse, waiting for something else to happen for some time, just staring at the ancient corpse. 

He slid down, approaching warily, prepared to be jumped again. But the magic or whatever had animated him was gone. He reached into his own pouch, taking a Gil coin out and tucking it in his hand to replace the ring. “Travel well, friend, and may you know peace.” He said softly, after some moments of scrabbling for something to say. “Your loyalty has already paid your passage, but known that none shall question you. You have done your duty.” That took some of the heaviness out of his chest, easing a strain he had not known he carried. 

Wind rushed through the passage, ruffling his hair and his cloak, and making Skip toss his head. 

The corpse beneath his hand crumbled to dust.


	50. Chapter 50

The whine that left his throat felt like glass. His hand clinched on air, arm seizing as the magic rippled up from his fingertips into his shoulder. He tried to gasp, but the air had been stolen from his lungs.

Skip nosed at him ineffectively, lipping the back of his neck. 

His arm was on fire, stabbing pain that felt like the skin liquefied around the mark. Aera’s mark. 

The scream escaped him, finally, echoing back at him. There was a weight on him, pushing him down, holding him in place. His arm felt like it was burning off. Aera?

He tried to call her name. But the word wouldn’t come out. The ring in his palm hurt, cut into him, risked his entire soul to hold onto it.

_Let go._

Yes, that made the most sense. He should let it go. It was hurting him. It was agony. 

Skip danced away, tossing his head, hoof striking the ground and sending sparks into the air. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. 

_Let go._

He had to let go of the ring before his hand was burned away. His sword hand. What good was he to anyone without his sword? 

Aera’s mark burned hotter on his arms, feeling like a brand being drawn over and over into the muscles and tendons. He screamed again, and Skip echoed the scream, hooves pounding against the stone. 

He thought for a moment that Skip would trample him, but there were wings all around, feathered and leathery, and then he was alone on the floor, hand burning, skin bubbling away. 

_Is it really as important as your life?_

Was it? He had no idea what it was, or why it had chosen now. 

“St-op.” His voice cracked on the word, watching the flames spread up his arm, cracks showing where the flame would travel next.

Like the Lucii ring, but he wasn’t wearing it. He wasn’t wearing it. 

“Stop.” He squeezed his eyes shut. His arm still hurt, Aera’s mark throbbed, almost matching his heartbeat. He could smell burning flesh and hair, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t real. 

It was using him, using his body. 

“Stop.” He repeated, climbing to his feet, reaching out blindly. “Skip?”

But no soft nose shoved itself into his hand, and when he pushed to call Skip too him a pain almost unimaginable stabbed through his head. 

He stumbled and nearly fell again, hand to his head, tears leaking free as he struggled. 

_What do you fight for? Your king? Your king is nothing._

He shook his head in denial, though it shot new pain up his neck. It hurt, it clawed at him. Every nerve alive and screaming at him. 

Not real. He tried to repeat it in his head. Tried, over and over again, to remind himself that it wasn’t real. 

But it hurt. The pain throbbed through him with a life of his own. 

_Shall I show you?_ The voice questioned.

He gasped as he was jerked aloft, feet snapping together, arms spread wide. He was watching, watching with horror as chains sprung free of his body, anchoring themselves into the wall, pulling his bones out of place. 

One wrapped around his neck, jerking his chin up and forcing him to look into the darkness where red eyes watched him. 

_Do you like it?_

“Fuck you.” He hissed, barely able to breath, hand tightening around the ring. Blood tripped free of his fist. 

_How base._ The red eyes vanished, leathery wings brushed against the back of his neck. Cor the immortal. Alone. High in the mountain. Will they remember your name in two thousand years? 

He shivered as claws tore down his back, shredding skin and fabric, sticky blood dripping down his back. The claws dug in a little further, scraping against bone, worming their way past it towards his organs.   
   
He shuddered, but he could not move. “Go to hell.”

_You first._

He should be dead before he could feel the pain of his heart being ripped out of his chest. Should be. Perhaps it was that knowledge that kept his sanity intact as it ripped him apart. He should be dead, there was no heart. 

But he wasn’t, he was aware of every excruciating moment, every piece of him carved away by the claws in these chambers. “Moogle.” He whispered around the blood in his mouth. “Maduin. Help me…..” 

His hand remained tight around the ring and the keys, even as the rest of him went slack. His vision faded, and then went dark. 

But he never left the pain behind. 

~*~ 

He woke slowly, unable to understand why it was so glorious to feel nothing. 

There was a woman sitting at a desk, with three tomes before her and a sheaf of paper she was taking notes upon, occasionally pausing to chew on her pen.

He knew her. 

_Aera._

But he was too comfortable and too heavy to say her name, too glad that it was over to really call attention to himself. He hoped it was over, he wasn’t sure he could handle another round. He pulled his hand from beneath the blanket tucked around him, opening his fingers a crack to make sure the ring was still there. 

“Not many could have withstood him.” A little voice told him, setting a tray on a pile of encyclopedias next to him. “That took courage, but mostly your own stubbornness.” 

“Hm?” He murmured, eyes half closed as he took in the tray. Tea. Always tea. “Where do you buy the tea?” 

“Wherever I like to.” Maduin shrugged at him. “I grow some of my own, it relaxes me, gardening.”

The made him smile as he lifted the cup, sipping at the hot liquid. 

“The thought of me with gardening gloves surprises you that much?” Maduin sat on another pile of encyclopedias. 

He half expected the couch to be made of books, but it seemed to be just a couch. Albeit one shoved into a veritable sea of books, with every part beneath shoved full. “Am I dead?”

“Oh hardly. The Nightmare prefers to drive his victims insane, rather than kill them outright.” 

He nodded, blowing on the tea. 

“It was foolish to go alone, and yet I do understand why you did.” Maduin sighed deeply. “Your instincts do you credit, but he won the last time you met, or nearly did.”

He paused, lowering the cup. “In the tunnels before I fell?”

“The very same, which I could have told you if you’d only held your temper.” The Moogle gave him a stern look. 

“I could not take Ardyn to the grave.” He said, soft. “I knew I could not. The chains there…”

“Would have recognized his blood and tried to consume him. Yes, I know. But our prince is not the only person with the strength to stand at your side.” Maduin gave him a stern look.

“I took Skip.” He defended.

“Sleipnir is a very clever beast. Smarter than most people, really. But he is still only a horse. An elevated horse, but his grasp of magic relies on him physically being able to preform the task. You are not his normal rider, and you do not know how to signal him for some of his more impressive tricks.” Maduin sounded tired.

“Besides jumping from place to place?” He asked, resentful as the pleasant numbness started to fade away. 

Maduin bristled slightly, ears pressed to his tiny skull. “If you only knew what you used for fast transportation, my boy. That he tolerates you at all is a marvel of itself.” 

“So. The nightmare.” He rubbed his head. “It wanted…”

“Sol’s ring, yes. That you found.” Maduin drew out a black cord, one he felt was a little bit familiar. “This was Aster’s. It’s yours, now that you have sent his soul into the beyond.”

“I don’t want it.” 

Maduin lifted it over his head anyway. “You will wear it anyway. It might be useful, and you will need all the tricks you can carry if you walk this path. Rest for a little longer, and I will return you to your people and your prince.” 

He started to protest, but the Moogle gave him a stern look and walked away. 

He settled, glancing at Aera once, before setting the tea cup aside and pulling the blanket up around him. 

He was still very tired.


	51. Chapter 51

The world rippled around him. One moment he was on Maduin's couch, the next he was back in the dark tunnel, claws ripping him to shreds. One moment he was arching up and Maduin was speaking to him, low and urgent.

The next a demon leaned close to his face and whispered poison in his ear. _mine now. All mine. No escape._

Once he was sure Maduin's eyes glowed red in the library. Another he was sure the demon was holding tea.

His mind had gone beyond all screaming. It was captured in a tug of war between two forces, both ripping pieces out of him.

He cowered back on the couch, covered in blood and Maduin chanted something urgent he couldn't understand. They the demon was holding his face again and laughing while it used its claws to rip open his belly and make patterns out of his entrails.

 _I brought you here, to this moment, to this place. All is my doing. Give it to me. You are already lost._

He had no idea what scrap of sanity maintained the grip on the ring. Because the rest of him would have given anything to have the pain end, even if it killed him.

The searing throb of light, the flush of electricity over his skin made him cower, glass shards tearing into his back.

Someone called his name, and something else - bright, burning, a whirl of movement and violence - leapt past him.

The demon gave a raspy scream and the blur answered with a bestial snarl.

Hands found him, lifting him tenderly. "My dear, darling man." Fingers smoothed down his chest tenderly, digging glass out of his chest, his back. Warmth followed it, smoothing out his aches and pains. A part of him that had been shuttered and locked away reached out, curling around the angel above him.

Ardyn's eyes danced with humor, lips pressing against his forehead. "Well, I don't know about that. But I am here, darling."

He could feel the worry there, beneath the gentle humor that had always characterized his prince.

"How...?"

"Later, my dear one." Ardyn drew him closer, watching the battle unfold. 

Later. He could accept that. His mind felt scattered, twisted and over stretched from the violent struggle for his person. Something had reached in Maduin's domain to snatch him back.

He had been the object of contention...and then Ardyn.

Ardyn lifted a staff from the ground, narrowing his eyes and another crackling spell materialized, shattering more of the walls.

The demon snarled and scrambled towards, long of leg and inhumanly stretched. Huge clawed hands reaching out to grab him.

He flinched back into Ardyn, feeling it was close, but Ravus jumped it, practically climbing it with burning claws on his hands and feet.

The girl hit the demon from the other side, and tag teaming it they drove it back into the darkness.

Ardyn watched the battle with quick moving eyes that sometimes looked where it seemed like the battle wasn't. Occasionally, he would murmur a spell when it seemed like one of the children had stumbled a bit, or the demon was far enough from them that the lightening could be bright to bare.

With a hiss, the demon melted into the wall.

"Watch. It may be a trick." Ardyn called out.

Aranea growled in return, pacing the length of the black glass.

"Cowardly beast. It relies on trickery." Ravus stated, coming too crouch at his side. Nostrils flared out, he skimmed a hand over his body. 

The flames faded, leaving a pair of eyes identical to Luna's in their wake.

"He is well enough. Dazed, though. As we were warned." Ardyn stroked his cheek. "I would wager that now that he is no longer in danger that beast of his will make us walk down."

Skip chose that moment to shove his horsy face in the middle of it all, rough tongue tasting his cheek.

He lifted a hand to touch his nose, trying to make sense out of echoes of pain as the horse nuzzled his stomach, lipping him as though that would restore him.

Aranea paced around them, growling at the dark occasionally.

“Peace, Lady Highwind. I think there are no more shadows but what we cast.” Ardyn said gently, and then very ungracefully lifted him into his arms. 

“Why’re you so large?” He complained faintly, not quite happy with being carried. 

“Why, the better to carry you, my dear.” Ardyn smiled down at him. 

He squinted his eyes, and got a face full of concerned horse. He pushed at him gently, catching a strand of his hair. “You an’ me are gonna have a talk later.”

Skip snorted, pushing past his protesting hands to nuzzle at his chest. 

“Best be on our way, children.” Ardyn said quietly. “I do not like the feel of this glass, and I do not want to linger long enough for it to gather its wits.”

“I’ll scout ahead.” Aranea declared, stalking off into the dark. 

Ravus fell back a few steps with a rumble that wasn’t entirely happy. 

Skip lipped at his hair one last time before turning to walk out of the tube next to him.

The staff, the one that hummed with a low bit of electric current was stashed in a sling on Ardyn’s back. 

He found himself drifting again, and startling whenever his mind would go away, too afraid to sleep. “How’d you find me?” 

“Skip, and some Aetherial aid. I very much dislike you wandering off alone, my dear one, but I do understand from our new patron that you were lured by the nightmare. It can feed on your soul.” Ardyn’s eyes crinkled in a smile, but the worry behind them was still very real. 

“Patron?” He asked, confused. 

“Later, darling. We are nearly out.” 

Skip tossed his head, snorting and pawing at the air. 

“Now you wish to carry him?” Ardyn asked, amused. 

“Is he talking to you?” He asked, craning his neck to look at the horse. 

“Not so much in words, but we had no cars in my day. I know how to read a beast.”

“I don’t think I can sit up.” He muttered, after testing the muscles in his stomach. “Did he really rip me open?”

“From the blood on you, I would wager that he did.” Ardyn looked briefly distressed. “But all parts are back where they should be now, and we can take precautions that you shall not be influenced again.”

Ardyn made it sound like a dirty word, while Skip shoved his horsy head into the middle of his chest again.

It was going to be a long walk down.


	52. Chapter 52

He woke to a slight weight across his stomach and was for a moment confused as to where he was, lifting up in bed a bit to stare down. There was a small figure curled up on the bed, arms wrapped around him, head resting against his stomach. Deeply and completely asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. 

“Noctis insisted on keeping watch to be absolutely certain you did not leave without us again.” Ardyn said gently from above him. 

He felt a small smile tease its way out. “I feel pretty protected.” He smoothed Noctis’ hair. “Scared the crap out of him again.”

“Well. Being ensorcelled and one of the few people he allows himself to depend on will do that to a child.” Ardyn smiled gently, touching his cheek. “He was intent, but also tired. So the best way to keep you from leaving without him was to fall asleep atop you. I let Aulea know where he was.”

He nodded, still smoothing Noct’s hair. There was an ache in his chest, old, twisting. New, more painful because of it. Regis should be here. Regis should be here doing this. Protecting Noctis. Not him. He was clearly doing a shit job of it. 

Noct scrunched up his nose and pressed into his stomach a little more.

“So. The staff?” He asked quietly. 

“Oh. Yes. I do usually use a sword.” Ardyn looked away, instantly evasive. “I made my own bargain, when we knew you to be in danger in the volcano.” 

“With who?” He frowned. 

Ardyn chuckled. “I will keep that to myself for now, but I am glad to have his support.” 

“Huh. Where are the other kids?” 

“Ravus and Aranea are with their brothers. The rest are where they normally are.” Ardyn pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “And I am keeping watch over Noct keeping watch.”

“Kid’s eight. Everyone falls asleep their first dawn shift.” He replied, fond. “But you can keep your secrets.” 

Ardyn leaned against his forehead. “The deeper we go, the more this might happen. Cor. I worry, you are a man. Just a man, stubborn, surely. But I worry. You cannot stubborn your way through everything.”

“When I can’t, you’ll be there.” He answered, pragmatic. 

Ardyn huffed, a feeling of warmth and softness enveloping him over the mind. “How is it you have so much faith in me when I have so little in myself?”

“Because I could do nothing without you, and I trust you.” He answered easily, studying his prince in the dim light. “I know that no matter what, you will always be by my side.” 

Ardyn sighed softly, closing his eyes. “So I will.” 

He circled a thumb next to Noct’s ear, tucking his head against Ardyn’s shoulder.

No more words were said, because all that was needed had been shared already. 

*~*  
He took Skip’s gear off, scrubbing the horse down with a brush. Skip watched him intently, black eyes serious. 

“So. You’ve got secrets.” He had sort of figured all along, but this seemed like the best way to talk with him about it. “And you’re probably been using me for sugar lumps. So how do we do this?”

Skip flicked an ears, sniffing at the bucket of grain he had brought out for him and stamping a foot.

At least he seemed to like the scrub down. He checked the gear over, cleaned it and put it back on him. 

“What do I need to do to get you to talk to me?” He asked, once he was done with it and Skip was back to watching him. 

Skip took a few mouthfuls of the grain, stamping his foot slightly as he chewed.

Maduin had been sure that Skip was hiding things, Ardyn even said he thought the horse knew more than he was saying. 

Because the horse wasn’t saying anything. 

“So is it the sword? Is that what you’re coming after?” He took it off his belt, leaning it against the rail and slowly approached the horse.

Skip met him and put his head on his shoulder, rough tongue licking his hair. 

Ok, not the sword. Another rough lick startled him, and Skip shoved his head into his face, bruising his lower lip. 

“Ok, ok. What are you doing?” He asked, confused, holding up his hands to protect his face. 

Skip licked his hands, and walked over to the sword, nosing it carefully. 

He went back to it, picking it up and sliding it back on his belt. Skip watched him for a moment, and then set his shoulder against his and leaned against him.

The damned horse was heavy, which he knew. But holy shit, suddenly having the weight of the horse on him was a new sort of hell, and the fence meant he couldn’t really sidestep out of the way. 

_Rider._ Skip tossed his head and danced away. _Rider._

“Yeah. I guess that’s me.” He stared at the horse. “But how do we work together?” 

Skip pawed at the ground, tapping his hoof on the stones beneath him. He pranced closer, and stood next to the fence. 

He glanced back towards the outpost, considering, and then swung himself up onto Skip’s shoulder. 

Skip tossed his head, and set off at a slow trot.


	53. Chapter 53

For all that they often used Skip to cut the distance traveled – or he did, an Ardyn could occasionally be coaxed into joining him – he had never ridden the horse for any great distance. It was an odd experience, less bouncy than a chocobo. They seemed to still be folding through the world, because if he looked too hard on either side he started to feel woozy. But the changes were less abrupt.

Skip stopped at a bridge. An old, much abused, crumbling bridge that seemed to lead to nowhere at all. Ears flickered back against his head, and for all the world it seemed like the horse was concentrating on something. 

He settled his hands on the reins, more curious as to what he was being shown than alarmed. 

Skip flicked his ears forward and stamped a hoof, setting off at a gentle trot onto the broken bridge. Which wasn’t broken anymore. Instead, it led to a floating city that was only loosely tethered by a collection of bridges, the mountain range that had stood behind it was gone. No sign of it anywhere. Just a wide, flat plain that was dotted with green and water. 

The city was full of ghosts, he could see people moving around, horses filling the streets. Paintings and murals covered the walls. Skip walked confidently through it, occasionally turning his head to look at him. 

He had no desire to get down, which he assumed was Skip’s way of telling him that he shouldn’t. Easy enough to follow, since he wasn’t sure how much of this was an illusion and how much of it was real, he had no desire to fall through it either way. 

“What is this place?” He asked, finally, voice soft. 

The noise of the city rolled around them, fire dancers and flower sellers scattered about. It was beautiful, peaceful even. But odd. Something didn’t sit right about it with him. 

_Home._ The answer was less a word than a sensation, reminding him of Lucis and the Citadel. It struck a chord of deep yearning within him and he found himself closing his eyes, losing the reigns to bury his fingers in Skip’s mane. 

The horse offered a soft snort in response. 

Skip found his way to the center of the city without getting lost once, despite the tangles of people dressed in brightly colored clothes that ran about. 

Skip paused there, nosing at a fountain. He took the chance to look around, eyes tracing up a flower archway and into the sky. The stars seemed odd, just slightly off of what he thought they should be. Bright, too, if he could see them with the sun still on the horizon. 

It was a place of laughter, of bright colors. He had no idea where it was. 

“A choice.” A soft, steady voice said behind him.

He turned in the saddle to blink at the man. The same one from the underworld, one eye still covered. He stood among the dancers and the flowers, nearly blending in with his background despite the fact that he was entirely out of place. He had not seen a single sword since he’d entered the city, and he still wore his belt slung low and ready. 

“What is?”

“Oh. Nothing you did. I was referring to the location.” The man rested his hand briefly on Skip’s nose as he walked past him. “Trying to sort out what he can do, hm?” 

He hesitated, not sure he should trust the man. But something told him that he should speak, and that perhaps this was why Skip had brought him here. “Someone told me he was hiding things.”

Skip snorted. 

“Oh, aren’t we all?” The man settled on the edge of the fountain. “What do you suppose he is hiding?”

He thought on that, shifting in the saddle to arrange himself more comfortably. The leather bit from time to time, even at the gentlest walk. “Well, he is a war horse I think, at least. He doesn’t spook easy and he doesn’t run from danger.”

“If he did, he would be a poor match for you. Considering your penchant for charging in.” The man said, a soft smile lifting his lips. 

He ducked his head. 

“Steady, lad. I’ve no quarrel with how you handle yourself. A little bit reckless, but I imagine you will season well.” The man sounded amused. 

It was an odd quirk of the man, a way of settling him at ease while also making him feel like a child awaiting instruction. “So I would wager he could fight. But I have no idea how to direct him.”

“Mhm.” The man leaned forward, chin on his hands. “Have you tried your sword?”

He blinked, hand dropping to the blade. “What of it?”

“Oh, merely pondering. But it would seem that to use a warhorse, one might have need of a weapon.” The man stood up, dusting his pants off. “His magic holds you aloft currently, but I would suggest you find your way out of this city before night falls.” He smacked Skip’s rump, and the horse startled forward a few steps, leaving them back on the bridge. 

As the night fell, the ghostly city vanished. Leaving nothing but the shattered bridge behind. 

He fingered the sword, looking up at the moon and the much dimmer stars above them as night fell around them. 

Skip’s ear went back as he drew it, spinning it lightly in the air as he adjusted his grip – and then it changed, no longer a sword but a spear. It was heavy in his hand, humming with power. He spun it again and the sword returned. 

Feeling at once gleeful for the new discovery and fascinated by its potential, he gave a faint tug on Skip’s reins. “Hunt.”   
The turn was masterful, the smoothest movement he had felt from the horse since he’d first climbed onto his back.

They hunted, and though the night was deep and the future loomed large, there was nothing that could threaten them. No daemon could even come close to matching them.


	54. Chapter 54

Ardyn drew the blade across his palm in a smooth, relaxed motion that would have been stunning without the blood that welled up around his fingers. 

He grimaced with obvious distaste, holding the hand over the flame and watching the blood – seething, black, wrong – drip into the fire. 

“It won’t work forever, brother.” Somnus knelt down next to him, massaging the arm. “You must stop this.” 

“I cannot while I still can do something.” Ardyn looked haggard, tired. “Who would I be if I stopped, Somnus? While people suffer and I can do something about it?”

The looked younger, he reflected. Younger than they had been in any dream he had been witness too before. 

“A living fool rather than a dead one? You cannot by yourself stem the tide, brother.” Somnus looked worried, wrapping the wound when it seemed the spate of bloodletting was at its end. “What will you become, brother?”  
Ardyn looked woozy, staring at the hand as Somnus wrapped it, face devoid of color. “Why would the gods give me this gift if I were not meant to use it, Somnus? Why?” To his shock there were tears on the young prince’s cheeks. “Every day, more succumb. I try, I draw as much of it away as I can…”

Somnus looked briefly angry in the flickering light of the fire, tying the rag he had used off. “Why give the power to one and no other? With an army of healers like you…” 

Ardyn shook his head. “I would teach them. I would show them. But no other can. I have tried.” Ardyn’s voice cracked a little. “I have tried, brother. I cannot leave our people to suffer with no…no hope.”

“They have hope, brother. They have it. We can contain and burn out the pockets of infection. The sick may die but others will live.” Somnus voice was gentle, urgent. “You are poisioning yourself for no gain.”

“Every life I save is a gain.” Ardyn said, voice rough, pulling his hand away. 

“And what of those you do not save, Ardyn? When hope causes their families to hide them until it spreads. What then, Ardyn? What of those plague seeds?” Somnus voice was tinged with fury, urgency. “You give them false hope by doing this.”  
Ardyn shook his head. “Why would the gods grant me this gift if not to use it?”

“Perhaps it is no gift at all, but a curse.” Somnus closed Ardyn’s hand around the ragged bandage. “Please, brother. Please. Listen.”

Again, Ardyn shook his head. 

“I will bring you the children?” Somnus offered, temporizing. “If we find any plague struck children, I will lock them up, and bring them directly to you. For you to heal, as you have the strength. So that the children at least will live.”

Ardyn looked horrified at the suggestion. “What of their parents?”

“Some will be lost, Ardyn. There is nothing we can do. You are but one man, and you cannot cover so much ground. Let me help you, help me, I help you. We burn this plague out.”   
“You’re mad!” Ardyn protested, drawing his hand to his chest. “They’re our people, Somnus!” 

“And to save most, we must lose some. If I can save further hundreds from becoming infected by burning fifteen, then I will happily do that. Ardyn. Ardyn. You are tired, you weaken every month you push on like this. Agree to my deal and we can save some that would otherwise be lost, because you will be centralized. Able to be found when needed.” Somnus had his best coaxing voice on, looking deeply concerned. 

“I will not agree to the murder of our people, Somnus.” Ardyn said loftily. 

“You already are. What happens when you are halfway across the world and someone in a village falls ill? What then, Ardyn? The entire village will be consumed, and you will have been too far away to do anything for them.”

“No. No. You’re mad, Somnus. You are crazy to think I would agree to this at all.” Ardyn was shaking his head, tears streaming down his face. 

“You are mad to think you are doing anything but spreading plague seeds! You yourself will succumb, and then where shall we be without Ardyn the healer?” Somnus was worried, urgent. “This is not a gift, brother. Or else they would have allowed you to _cure_ it, not simply draw it into yourself. I do not trust this path.”

Ardyn turned his head away.

Somnus sighed heavily, and stood. “So be it, brother. So be it.” 

He watched as Somnus left the cave, kneeling next to the younger Ardyn. 

The cloth around his hand was soaked through almost entirely with a thick black fluid, soft whispers barely audible. 

Ardyn had his head down, tears hitting the ground with tiny hisses. 

When he looked at Ardyn’s face, the tears were black, thick on his cheeks. His cheeks were hollowed out, inhuman to look at, and his eyes were wrong.

“I cannot stop. Not so long as there is breath in me.” Ardyn murmured, mostly to himself. “I am sorry, brother.”

He woke with a gasp, though he couldn’t move in the bed, Noctis was wedged against his side, and Ardyn was tucked securely on the other side, both breathing deeply and evenly. 

He spent the next few hours pondering, pondering Somnus words.

Something about them felt…important. But he wasn’t sure what. Something more significant than a long ago argument. 

_I will bring you the children._

But the children were dead, dead by the thousands. Those who had no one to sacrifice themselves had been carried away by the ashwing. So what had the vision done? He knew Ardyn was infected, had known almost as long as he had known the man. Ardyn made it no secret, but also didn’t seem to give it much thought lest his life was threatened. He lived as a normal man might. 

But that offer clung to the back of his mind. How could Somnus bring the children to Ardyn if they were already dead? And what was the point of a conversation that had gone so long past recall that he doubted either participant so much as considered it now?

Ardyn murmured sleepily against his shoulder, and Noct answered with a little ‘merp’ of his own, hands bunching of the fabric of his sleep shirt as his brow furrowed. 

They would leave tomorrow, with an airship and the blessing of the prince. They would leave tomorrow. Why was this important? Why now?

He lay awake, but no answer revealed itself to him. Not even when he drifted off again.


	55. Chapter 55

"When will you be back?" Noctis asked quietly, following him with only a slight limp as he carried the supplies into the airship.

"I told you kiddo, depends on what we find." He ruffled Noctis' hair as he passed. "It's just a survey team to see if we can recover the Infernian and evacuate any more civilians."

Noctis wrinkled his nose up. "Why can't I go with you if we are just trying to wake some old Astral up?"

He gave Noct a fond shake. "Because, oh great prince of Lucis, there will likely be Daemons and sick people and soldiers who might not know we are on their side. Of course I am not taking you with me. Perhaps the old Astral will be cross with us for waking them, hm?” There was an ease to interacting with Noctis he found with few other people. Maybe it was the memory of the little prince tucked against his shoulder as a baby, maybe it was the resemblance to Regis. Nevertheless, he found it comfortable to speak to the boy. It might be selfish, chasing the child for the remainder of his friend. But maybe Noctis needed it too. 

Noct pouted at him. 

"Not happening." He smoothed the dark hair back and pulled him into a hug.

Noct grumbled. "But how am I going to sleep? Ignis is too bony to be a good pillow."

"Maybe your mom?" He fluffed his hair. "Give Ignis a break, kid. He's not that much older than you and he's trying."

Noct nodded, leaning on his stomach. "Prince Janus is going."

"Prince Janus is an entire adult. Older than me." Now at least, he thought. Time was weird now. Compressed. He knew that Prince Janus had years on him, but perhaps he shouldn’t. In his mind he was still only twenty-six and counting, not in his thirties as he should be. "Who can fight. Plus, it is his kingdom and his soldiers that he can hopefully convince to lay down arms."

"So when we go back to Lucis I can go?" Noct asked.

He leveled the kid with a long look. "Do you want to go?"

Noct shrunk his shoulders in. "...no."

He ruffled the hair again. Clarus had done that all the time, when he was only a little bit older than Noctis was now. The pang in his chest was easing, slowly. But it was still there. He was not sure he would ever be rid of it completely. "There will be battles for you to fight in time, Noctis. But for now, let us fight them in your steed."

Noctis leaned against his side, squeezing his eyes tight shut. "I don't want anyone else to die for me, uncle Cor."

He rubbed the back of Noctis' skull, casting about for something to say, and finally dropped into a crouch in front of the boy. "Well. We should both be glad I am immortal, then."

Noct furrowed his brow. "Does anyone believe that for real?"

"How about you start, and I will carry it with me to face the future with sword drawn?"

Noct huffed and out his arms around his neck, burrowing close to him. "I'll miss you."

"I will miss you too." He gave Noct a tight squeeze. "But we will be back before you know it."  
Noct nodded slowly 

"Besides. Someone has to keep your uncle Ardyn out of trouble."

Noct giggled. "Dad said uncle Ardyn keeps you out of trouble."

"Bah." He stood up, moving to tie down the supplies he had loaded.

"He said it was going to be one of my royal duties, giving uncle Ardyn breaks. When I become king. So he doesn't get overwhelmed. He said you're like a royal heirloom and we all have to look after you." Noctis was still giggling a bit, clearly having fun. “Grandpa Mors did it first.”

He snorted, because he could imagine Regis saying just that, with Clarus goading him on. "You'll find, Noctis, that king or not your father isn't right about everything." 

There was silence from the little prince, and task done he turned to find out what the problem was.

Noctis was biting his lip. "You're the only one that still does that."

He frowned, tilting his head a bit. "Does what?"

"Talk like he's still alive. Even mom...” Noct sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. "Everyone else..."

Noctis was too young for all of this. Too young for any of it really. He should be bonding with his shield and advisor. Teaching a new generation what a Caelum Caticus looked like. Sleeping too late and laughing too loud and doing all sorts of crazy shit most kids did at almost ten. He stepped forward and picked him up, arms tight around him. Noct returned the embrace, squeezing tight.

They stood for a long time in silence, arms around each other.

"Hey. I wonder if you could do something for me while I’m gone?" He asked, soft.

Noct nodded a little.

"Loqi and Silver are staying here. They're not used to being without their big siblings or being allowed to play. You think you can help with that?"

Noct twisted his hands together at the nape of his neck. "I can try. Maybe Luna can help?"

"I bet she would. I know Ravus would be glad to know you are helping." He pressed an absent kiss to Noctis' temple. 

Noct nodded, still a bit teary, shoulders slumped. "Ok."

He couldn't lie to the kid and tell him everything would be fine. Because it wasn't fine. It hadn't been for a very long time. But he could give him something constructive to do. A tiny bit of help finding his footing now that he was away from Lucis and Bahamut. 

"You still got that charm I gave you?"

Noct nodded, pulling it out of his shirt.

"You keep that and your radio with you, and you call me if you need me." He leaned forward, forehead to forehead. 

Noct nodded again, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

He didn't force him to talk again, swaying gently in the hold of the airship until Ravus came to fetch them.


	56. Chapter 56

He knew who the kid was, even if his time sense was all sorts of odd. He was young, but he had his father's look about him.

"Wedge can fly any transport you find there. I am sure there are still operable airships." Janus was saying, gesturing to the boy. "Ex-resistance."

Wedge grinned. "Less ex and more common foe, highness. But yeah. I can do it."

"And if there is nothing operable?" Ardyn glanced at the boy. 

"Flag us down in three days if you don't find anything. I am going to deal with the survivors who flared and try to evac them out of the city." Janus looked tired. "Whatever remains, we must do what we can for them. And they signaled us. We have doctors with us and supplies."

"Understood." Ardyn clasped the prince's hand briefly. "We will perform regular check ins."

"Thanks. And good luck. I hope that you find what you are looking for." He nodded to Ravus and Aranea. 

Aranea gave him a curt nod, but Ravus was looking down the stairs of the first Magitek lab with a furrowed brow.

They cleared the roof before Janus took off, packs and bags of supplies shoulders along with them.

"I knew your father." He remarked, idle.

"I know." Wedge gave him a grin. "Grew up hearing stories about you, sir. Pleasure to meet you finally."

They shook hands, and he gripped perhaps too long as he studied the boy. "All he ever talked about was you and your mother. I know he would be proud of you."

Wedge ducked his head and looked away. "So. We're here for an Astral, huh?" 

Aranea glanced at them, but was mostly glaring at the lift.

"We hope very much that the slumbering Infernian is all we find here." Ardyn said softly, looking up at a blackened emergency light. "Keep to the rear, so you don't destroy our night vision."

"Yes'sir!" The boy saluted, pack shouldered, gun at the ready.

The only normal human on this mission. He tried not to let dread ball up his stomach, settling his hand on his sword.

"Welcome home." Ravus muttered to Aranea.

The young woman snorted. "Home sweet home."

Ardyn sighed. 

~*~

The lights had been ripped out of the walls on places, which bode I'll for their chances of being alone in the facility. The cold outside leaked in through broken windows, leaving snow and trails of frost over everything. The windows for the most part had been broken out, the snow covering whatever had fallen in its entirety.

Twice, they came upon windows broken in, blood and bits of flesh caught on the glass, visceral trailed along the floor.

Which might be fine, and expected. But they were twenty stories up.

They avoided those areas, weapons trained on the glass as they passed by, on high alert until they found another elevator and left the floor behind.

There were no bodies, which was unnerving. A few piles of clothes and armor, some shredded, some simply lain on the ground as though their wearer half disrobed for some reason.

By the time they found a room that felt secure to stop for the night he was jumping at their shadows, ready to fight something even if nothing was appearing. His jaw ached from where he had been grinding his teeth. "Is it always like this?" He asked the pair that Aranea and Ravus made on the floor.

The children exchanged a look, and Aranea shrugged a bit. "There are more people. Usually."

"Rather than the feeling we are being watched." Ardyn glanced at the door, rubbing his arms. 

"No. That is always there." A slight edge of humor colored Ravus's words, and he nodded towards a corner. "These rooms and all areas of the research center are monitored in three directions."

"Three directions?" Wedge asked quietly. "What does that mean?"

"Audio, visual, and heat. In addition the monitors are set to activate at movement, change in oxygen levels or any sort of atmospheric anomaly. They can read the air to determine if the occupants of an area are excited or experiencing any emotional irregularly. Areas can be sealed and flooded with chemicals - sedatives or otherwise." Aranea recited all of it in a clipped, almost bored tone.

Ardyn looked impressed. "So even if we assume this facility is abandoned, it is still watching us itself?"

The young woman nodded. "So if you feel eyes on you, it is because this place watched you. Even if nobody alive is still here."

"Brrr." Wedge gave a little shudder. "Freaky."

Aranea offered a half smile in response.

"Do you think something climbed up here or flew up here?" Wedge asked, flopping back on the bed.

"I am trying not to think." Ardyn murmured. "We should try to rest."

"Gonna have zombie nightmares." Wedge grumbled to himself. "Crawling out of the vents like a low budget movie."

"We'll protect you." Aranea teased. "Try not to panic."

He settled next to Ardyn on the bed, laying back on it. Listening to the chatter without really intending to fall asleep. The climb down had drained him more that he thought.

Ardyn settled a hand on his head, stroking gently.

He drifted off to the sound of the soft chatter.

*~*  
The glass tubes were massive, standing out from the walls, fog drifting out to snap at his ankles. His breath was warmer than the air around it and also lent to the mist.

It mounded in places, rearing up and writhing like some beast rose up beneath it.

But there was nothing. He knew that. He knew it deep within himself. There was no one here but him.

He knew it with such certainty that the sight of a woman standing against a case, brown eyes staring, startled him so much that he stumbled.

Or maybe that was the unnatural cold, finally pulling him down.

She was gone when looked up again, though he turned on every direction to find her.

He found her again an eternity later, standing on the other side a glass wall, palms pressed flat against it.

She was wild looking, long green hair falling to her waist, mouth open to display teeth that were just too sharp. She wore only a brown shift, wide at the shoulder that concealed her body.

He lifted a hand to press against hers on the glass, a shudder making its way through his body at the sharpness of the cold.

His breath puffed on the glass between them. Hers did not.

She stared at him, dead eyes holding no expression at all. He could not tell what she thought, or even if she was thinking at all. The mist pressed around him, clinging to the glass.

He mouthed her name, her eyes traced it on his lips. The cracked skin of her lips was unnaturally red, throbbing. Almost like blood. It was stark on her pale face, repulsive, but alluring at the same time. 

She wore a crown upon her brow, the twisting gold seeming to shift even as she stood so utterly still she might not be alive at all. 

There was frost over her eyes, and snow caught in her eyelashes.

She had to be dead.

It was so unbearably cold.

The red around her mouth started to run, a slow caress of liquid down her chin.

It seemed to hang suspended in the air for an unnaturally long time before it hit the window.

She vanished, leaving only the splatter of the red on the window prove that she had been there at all.

~*~

"If he groans again I am not sure I can _not_ shoot him. He is really freaking me out."

"Wake up, Cor. Wake up. You are cold as ice." Ardyn's voice was gentle, persuasive, luring him back to wakefulness.

He jerked and heard a rifle cocked.

"Cool it, kid."

"He might be infected." Wedge protested.

"Infected with what?" Ravus sounded more curious than alarmed.

"I dunno. Whatever is turning him into a zombie!"

He shuddered again, trying to open his eyes. It hurt, his eyelashes were frozen together and his eyes ached.

"There you are my darling." A hand pressed down over his eyes, warming him. Melting the ice.

His teeth started chattering, convulsive shivers rocking him.

"Good. He is shivering again." Ravus sounded very close to him, very close and very warm.

"I am not sure how any of the rest of you are this calm." Wedge still sounded anxious.

"He dream walks. We have all seen him do it." Aranea didn't sound bothered. "Sometimes he beings things back with him."

Ardyn wrapped him up, making little shushing sounds as he shivered.

There was an odd metallic taste in his mouth. Almost like blood, and he thought unwillingly of the droplet of red running slowly down the observation window as he pounded uselessly against it, trying to reach the ghastly woman.   
“What do you suppose he saw this time? I was always aware when he saw us.” Aranea was speaking softly, seeming distant. “So what could call him, if not us or you, prince?”

Ardyn’s voice was close, but worried. “I do not know. I have never seen it touch him like this, not this much.” Fingers trailed over his skin, warming him, gentling him into wakefulness. 

“Maybe it is not a ‘what’ but a ‘who’?” Ravus pondered. “We are surrounded by whatever it is that was so desperate to get out.” 

“But which came first, the entries or the exits?” Aranea asked just as soft. 

“Really.” Ravus muttered. “What made them so desperate to leave, they are on different floors, often. It does not seem to have used the elevator at all. The clothes and mess are not in. Perhaps a lockdown.”

Silence for a little while, foggy mind drifting and grasping at straws. 

“But lockdowns don’t end unless someone enters the manual override. So who’s still here? And what do they want?”

He shuddered, turning to burrow into Ardyn.

His prince wrapped him up in his arms, laying almost on top of him. 

“Or who?” Ravus asked quietly, into the silence that followed.

Nobody had an answer for that.


	57. Chapter 57

They stayed longer than they had meant to, until the piercing cold had mostly left his bones. They had lost almost an entire day to it.

Healing didn't touch it. Even warming a drink had only left him feeling like it had solidified somewhere down his throat.

He pushed on before the bite had entirely vanished, but moving helped clear the slush from his veins. 

Wedge kept giving him nervous looks, and seemed like he was going to ask questions several times. But he was holding his tongue.

The lower levels were more of what they had already found, shattered glass and empty clothes. They had the novelty of encountering a single goblin that has chittered at them from the rafters and refused utterly to come down and fight.

"Might be scared off me." Ardyn murmured, watching the creature. "Odd to see one alone."

"Why would it be scared of you?" Wedge asked, watching the Goblin through his scope. 

"Oh. They have their reasons, I suppose." Ardyn non-answered, tracking the fallen beast on it's way. "There should be more of them. Larger daemons rarely attack smaller ones unless they are starving."

"So something has decided this is its hunting ground." He rasped softly. "Something big. And it has run out of things to eat."

Ravus gave a small shudder. 

Aranea shifted her grip on her weapon. 

Wedge gulped and dropped his weapon. "I don't like being out in the open."

Ardyn gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "We should keep going. It won't attack us."

He kept his hand on the sword until they reached the lift anyway. "Do you figure it is using the stairs?"

"Or else it has maintained enough of its intelligence to operate the lift. Though with the violence of the assaults on the window I think we would see something of it in the lifts were it using them." Ardyn touched the wall.

"Could be using the freight elevator. Larger, more open. If it were a former test subject it may prefer that." Aranea suggested, slumped against the back wall.

"Where is it? Could we stop lift jumping if we used it?" He asked.

"Possible. We would need an S level badge, not just the I and R level we are picking up now." She looked thoughtful. "Most everyone was restricted to their area. The lower levels are where most of the research was done. What we have been working through is mostly offices."

With none of the office staff. 

"Involuntary transfers." Ravus said.

Aranea laughed a bit. "I doubt anyone will file the paperwork."

"Build a memorial stone when this is all over with no mention of how they lost their lives."

He rolled his eyes a bit, but Wedge was white and trembling a bit.

Ravus clearly noticed. "Understand, Kincaid. That these creatures spent my childhood harming myself and my siblings. If they are dead, good. I mourn not one moment for any of them. Janitor or head researcher, they allowed this to occur and brought their fate upon themselves."

Wedge swallowed hard and nodded. “Right. I get you. We’ve…seen reports.”

Ravus hmmed, turning back to the door. 

Ardyn gave a small sigh as the doors opened, stepping out into the barely lit corridor. “Something has stolen the emergency lighting again. Wedge, stay back with your light so we do not destroy our night vision completely.” 

He stepped out, covering the sides of the corridor, narrowing his eyes into the dark. 

Aranea and Wedge stepped off the machine, the kid careful to keep his light off until they finished dispersing. 

Without a sound, the Elevator doors sealed, shutting Ravus inside.

He struck at the door, trying to jam his sword in the way, prying it open. But the car was gone, and there was only a gaping dark shaft where it had stood. 

Aranea hissed beside him, claws unsheathing with a ringing sound. She looked very near to dropping down the shaft after her brother. 

“What can do that?” Ardyn asked, concerned, but not panicking yet. 

“The only place you can direct them from is the command center. Someone just took him.” 

Wedge swore softly beside him. “It’s hunting us now, isn’t it?”

Ardyn looked down into the dark, then up at him. “Cor?” 

He shook his head slightly. “The only way is down. We needed to switch elevators and find a keycard for further levels. Stairs?” He looked at Aranea, questioning. 

"Stairs.” She shuddered, growling softly. “Ah. Stairs.” She shook herself, and stomped off into the darkness.

That was the only pause they made until they reached the ground floor, passing through offices. Some were entirely unchanged, computers still on, papers piled neatly in outboxes. They found a mail cart, stacked neatly and entirely undisturbed. 

Other offices had no fared as well, and were covered in blood and scraps of clothes, black fluid still steaming as it ate through the walls. 

They saw nothing else alive. No Daemons, no monsters, not even common vermin that should at least be after the food that was starting to rot in the cafeteria. 

There weren’t even bugs. 

Still, the constant feeling of being watched was always present, and when they finally stopped on the first floor it was to study the twisted maze of glass and metal that had once been a wall. 

There were drag marks on the floor. Wedge found claw marks dug in, and an isolated shoe. High heeled, fashion forward, size eight. There was a foot still in it. 

It was, oddly enough, the only body part they had found so far, and it wasn’t really a body part at all. Wires twisted free from where they had been severed, blood covered it. A prosthetic. 

“I suppose they have not much interest in wiring.” Ardyn murmured, poking it with his sword. 

The wind was stronger here, blowing snow over the area. It softened the twisted metal and glass, and made footing treacherous. Several times they slipped on broken glass or rubble, feet finding holes in whatever had torn the glass. 

Aranea kicked the door to the stairs open, though it was helped by the fact that something had clearly come this way before. 

So they descended, and nothing moved to attack them.


	58. Chapter 58

They first started to see the mist on sublevel two, by the time they reached three it was obfuscating the walls, leaving trails of frost in its wake.   
Ardyn glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised in question.

He nodded, searching the frost littered corridor. “I wasn’t here. I was deeper in. There were tubes and observation windows.” 

Aranea scowled. “The cloning floor.” 

“Are we going to turn into popsicles?” Wedge wondered quietly to himself. 

“I would hope not. But it seems likely that we approach Ifrit’s containment. They must keep him cold to keep him passive.” Ardyn glanced at Aranea. 

She nodded, jaw set. “They run on their own generator.” 

“Which is why they are still running now, with half the building shut down.” Ardyn murmered, running his fingers down the wall. The wall was cold enough that it flash froze his fingertips, but the injury healed almost at once.

Wedge gave him a wild eyed look, keeping his distance from the walls. “So. Uh. How are we going to _not_ become popsicles and then get fried by an Astral?” 

“My father will not attack us once he is freed.” Aranea snarled, claws flexing. 

“He might not attack _you_ but is he going to recognize the rest of us as non-hostile?” Wedge countered. “Or is he going to flame first and ask questions later?”

Aranea hesitated, glancing at him, eyes wide and worried. 

“Just hang back, kid. Let her wake him up.” He told Wedge. “We can absorb more damage than you can.” And he thought, at least a little, that Maduin’s mark on his arm might protect him in some way. He wasn’t sure. 

It felt odd to be so close to a years long goal, that an end was in sight. He didn’t quite trust it. He didn’t feel that they were even near the end, it still felt like they had only started. 

But he kept his hand on his sword anyway. Ready to face what was next.

It turned out ‘what was next’ was the stairs seeming to collapse, blocking them from progressing any further, and the faint strains of piano music over the intercoms. 

He sighed, staring up at the gap in the wall, and the twisted wreck of metal. “So much for the easy route.”

Wedge grimaced. “Who goes first into the scary dark hole?”

He glanced at Ardyn, who made a face at him, but nodded and pulled his gloves on. 

He climbed the rubble, finding a perch and shining his light through before turning back to look at his party.

They were all gone, 

There had been no blip of panic on the bond, no noise, nothing. The corridor behind him was just empty. 

His chest expanded, contracted, and he realized that he was entirely alone. He crept back down, searching the rubble for any trace of them. 

There was nothing. They and everything they had carried were gone. 

He slotted the light back into his belt, and slowly climbed back up the rubble and through the hole.   
*~*

Some of the pods had been torn open, their contents cosumed. The thought of it left prickles of gooseflesh up his arms that had nothing to do with the cold. Others were full, still. Their sleeping occupants entirely unmarked by the empty base. 

Most ‘slept’ with their eyes closed, fine tracery of ice on the glass. The first he found with eyes opened made his entire body twitch away. 

The eyes didn’t follow him, but they were open and staring. The fog twisted around his legs, around his body. It chilled his skin, and made him feel that he couldn’t stop or he wouldn’t wake up at all. 

His hand was always on his sword, prepared to be attacked at any moment. What the hell was this place, and why? 

Where were his people? 

A soft tapping distracted him, and he turned, half expecting to see the green-haired woman from his dream. One of the clones was staring at him instead, tapping quietly on the glass. 

Bile rose into his throat, but he found himself stepping forward, pressing his hand against the opening device and allowing the creature to escape. 

It was wild eyed and crouched, arms wrapping around his knees, a low whine escaping his throat. 

“Easy, kid.” His voice sounded strained to his own ears, but the clone darted a look up at him. There was a barcode on its wrist, and it wore some sort of clingy suit. But it was barefoot in the cold and he could already see the skin starting to pale from the fog. 

He dug through a few access panels, and found a pair of boots. “Try these.” 

The clone obediently pulled the boots on, and then the gear belt and the rest of what he had found. 

It stood at loose attention, eyes fixed on him.

“Come on. Need to find a way down.” He couldn’t leave it, could he? “Don’t follow anyone but me.”

The clone saluted mutely, falling into step behind him. 

The fog grew thicker the deeper they went, the cold more piercing. But he couldn’t stop. He had to move forward. Had to keep moving or the cold would kill them both. 

On either side there were rows of tanks, with silent, slumbering clones within. If the one following him had any thought on its captive brothers and sisters, it gave no indication. The only sign of nerves was the occasional press of skin against his back as the machinery hissed and grumbled to itself. 

The fog muted the sounds of their feet, and carried the sounds of the still seemingly active lab, distorting it, making it alien and strange. 

It felt almost as though he had stepped back into the dream, as the fog mounded around them, bulging outward, taking bestial shapes in the dim lighting. They surged, enveloping them, leaving both chilled and shuddering in the dark. The gusts were infrequent, perhaps a result of their passage. 

Nothing stirred in the dark, no other clones awoke in their silent chambers. 

The silence was starting to drive him mad.


	59. Chapter 59

He could feel the cold, feel it everywhere. Only the sudden bumps against his back from the clone penetrated the fog he was in, a numb coldness that had wrapped him up. 

“Cor! Cor!” Wedge’s voice cut through the cold, and the boy was suddenly there, beside him. 

The clone made a low, keening noise in the back of his throat, startled and ap scared. 

“Where the hell did you go?” He demanded, clasping the kid’s warm – almost too warm – arm. 

“Us! You’re the one that vanished! I lost Aranea in the labs, she ran off after Ravus, and then….uh. Ardyn said he knew where he needed to go, and one of the tanks burst and there was just fog everywhere.” Wedge was talking fast, bouncing on his toes a little bit. “I couldn’t find him.” 

The clone gave another small whine, hand clutching at the back of his shoulder, giving a little tug. 

He frowned, turning back to look at him. 

The clone looked terrified. He had fingers twisted in the back of his jacket, blue eyes wide. 

“So who is this?” Wedge asked, staring at the clone curiously. 

“Found him in one of the tanks.” He explained, frowning at the clone. “What’s wrong?” 

The clone shook his head, tugging on his shoulder again.

“Spooky. I’ve passed a lot of tanks down here. None of them have been awake. What makes this one special?” Wedge was studying it with interest. 

The clone gave another little tug, shaking his head.

“He’s upset about something. We should probably move.” He admitted slowly, giving the clone a gentle pat on the hand.

The clone made another muffled whining sound. 

Wedge nodded. “Yeah. This cold feels like it is going to eat me up. We should keep moving. So is this what you dreamed?”

“Not…exactly.” The clone kept trying to tug him away as they walked. “Where did you lose Ardyn?”

“This way.” Wedge headed back into the fog. 

He followed, but the clone was still tugging at his shoulder, whining in that low animal tone in the back of his throat. 

“It’s alright. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He told the clone gently. What were their operating setups when they first woke up? It had seemed able to walk and dress itself just fine, seemed able to follow some instruction. But what was it reacting to that he wasn’t registering? 

The clone gave a frustrated sound – almost a sob – and pressed against his shoulder, face tucked into him. It made walking a little bit difficult, but he managed. Wedge led the way through the tubes, backtracking to where he had lost Ardyn.

More of the tubes had been emptied out – their contents consumed – others were dark, the contents blackening, eyes webbed over with infection. 

His clone was clutching his shoulder, steps interwoven with his own. 

There was an observation window ahead. 

He recognized it, he knew it. 

Wedge turned slightly, motioning him to follow and kept going.

The clone stopped, tugging backwards against him, keening. He slowed, staring around the open space. There were tables he hadn’t really noticed in his dream, heavy frames with restraints. One held a limp MT. Limp, boneless. Like a puppet with the strings cut. 

There were tubes overhead, snaking through the above. 

A conversion space.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Cor?” Wedge’s voice was confused, the kid standing just ahead of him. 

“Give me a second.” He whispered, tracking the pipes up above him. A conversion zone. Where they turned them into MTs 

The clone wrapped around his elbow and took a step back, slow, careful. 

"S'that what you’re scared of?” He asked the clone quietly. 

The clone shook his head, but was still tugging. 

“I’ve gotta find my friends.” He explained, gentle. “We’ve got a mission.”

Another quick shake of his head.

“Cor?” Wedge was wandering back their way and the clone seemed on the verge of losing his mind. 

Why was only one clone awake? Was it some sort of trap? 

He let himself move a step in the direction the clone was tugging, then another.

“Hey, Ardyn was this way?” Wedge sounded confused, so confused and so genuine. 

“Hey. I need you to use your words.” He muttered to the clone, letting it lead him. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” The clone rasped out, eyes darting to Wedge, then back to him, eyes pleading, desperate. 

“Don’t?” He furrowed his brow, confused, concerned. 

“Cor? What are you doing?” Wedge sounded impatient, just a little bit confused. 

Don’t follow anyone but me. He had told the clone that, realizing that the fog would play tricks on him.

He looked over his shoulder at Wedge, narrowing his eyes. Searching for the thing that he had missed. He had missed something. “Hey. Where’s your gun?”

“I lost it.” Wedge shrugged, casual, loose limbed and seemingly unconcerned about it. 

He looked back at the clone, who had a white knuckled grip on his arm. “Can you run?”

Relief flooded the clone’s expression, and he nodded quickly, giving another little tug. 

“Where’d you say Aranea went?” He asked, voice slow, careful.

“I told you, she went running after Ravus.” Wedge laughed a bit. “Man, this cold is fogging your head, oldtimer.” 

The tone was a perfect match. Perfect inflection, perfect structure. The only thing it was missing was the fear. 

The clone was chewing on his lower lip, watching Wedge over his shoulder with terrified eyes.

Crap. If he was wrong about this, Kincaid would never forgive him. 

“Ok.” He said to the clone, voice pitched low. “Count of three, keep hold of me.”

A quick, terrified nod. 

“I’m going to try to find her.” He called over his shoulder.

“We’re almost where I left Ardyn, don’t you want to find him first?” Impatience and just the smallest hint of irritation.

“One.” He whispered. 

“Cor. Come on, man. I’m cold.” Wedge whined. “Let’s get Ardyn and get out of here.”

“Two.” He told the clone. “We need Aranea to wake Ifrit.” 

“Bah. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Besides, Ardyn might need us.” Wedge coaxed. 

He gripped the clone’s arm tight as he could without breaking it, and as he breathed the last number, they ran into the fog.

An inhumane shriek sounded in their wake, and the fog billowed after them like a wave.


	60. Chapter 60

The cold was bad for running in, the clone gasping at his side when he made him stop. He pulled out the cloak, draping it around the kid and rubbing his arms. "How did you know?"

The clone shook his head, soft coughs and whimpering he only sound he seemed capable of at the moment.

The cold hurt to breathe it was so intense. It made the inside of his chest feel like salted meat. He coughed few times to try to clear them and tasted metal. Blood. Shit.

He hugged the close to him, trying to warm them both, and snuffling, the clone tentatively cuddled, leaning against his shoulder.

"It is what has been eating you. Isn't it?"

A faint nod, tiny tremors shaking through him.

"Poor kid." He hugged him, tight. "You got a map of this place in your head?"

Another, slightly more tentative nod.

"Can you take me to where these machines start?" He asked. 

A smaller, shakier nod.

"Alright, kid. You lead." 

They stayed another few moments, until they could more or less breath without coughing.

The clone took his hand, winding their fingers together and tugged him into the tube maze.

"Have you seen a woman down here?" He asked. "Green hair. Sort of....dead looking?"

The clone gave him a faintly puzzled look over his shoulder and shook his head.

"Ah. Sorry. Had to ask."

The tubes were lit from inside, most of their occupants asleep, heads tucked against their chest. They all looked alarmingly the same. Uniform, even.

The mts before they were shoved in the suits. 

The clone tightened his grip from Time to time, seemingly without any purpose except seeking that reassurance of physical touch.

He squeezed back whenever it happened, rubbing the back of the kids hand with his thumb.

Poor kid. Really. Walking through this demented nursery, aware of the sleeping brothers all around him.

They found themselves at a narrow stairwell, the clone swiped his wrist at the door to let them in.

It was a smaller staircase. Clearly some sort of service passage. There were only small wisps of fog here, and the cold was not quite as intense.

They found the first body only a few steps down. A researcher by his garb, body twisted and eyes staring blindly into nothing. He had clearly fallen or jumped from an upper floor, the injuries all seemed concurrent with a fall.

He found the badge and checked the pockets, but the man had nothing on him.

They found three janitors huddled together, and for a moment he thought they might be alive. But their bodies were frozen in addition to being emaciated. Eyes closed.

There was a door only a few feet away, and clearing the frost from the window revealed bloody handprints on the other side and a seemingly untouched breakroom. Vending machines lighting the dark area, seemingly filled with snacks and drinks that could have likely sustained the men. The glass was warmer than the stairwell, indicating that the breakroom was probably heated.

 

The clone seemed unperturbed, but his stomach clinched a bit. Unnerved. A part of him wanted to go into the room, to warm them both and maybe take a brief rest.

But the rest of him was sure it was a deadly idea.

They kept going, down the stairs and into what appeared to be a generator room. The clone lingered near the doorway, peering inside with an anixious expression.

“Right.” He whispered, unsheathing his sword as he walked forward. “I don’t suppose you know how to work these?”

The machines were massive, towering over him. Easily several stories high, condensation forming on the exterior, shiny metal of them. 

The clone made a muted, terrified noise behind him and he spun just in time to see it duck back into the narrow stairwell as something big and dark dropped and clawed for it.

The creature was huge, a giant, gaping maw that could swallow him whole. Bits of fabric clung to its teeth, seeming to flicker here and there, becoming whole people – and then not again.

“Why have you come here?” A woman’s voice hissed in his mind. “what are you doing?” 

He screwed his eyes closed, hand to his head. It wasn’t a woman’s voice. 

He saw – despite the fact that his eyes were closed – the green haired woman walking towards him, mincing slowly through the fog which suddenly surrounded him. 

It could trick him, it was inside his head. 

The woman flickered into Ardyn, and then into Wedge, and then into the pleasant looking one-eyed man who had taught him to hunt, reaching out to offer him a hand. 

He kept his hand to the side of his head with a snarl, swinging out with his sword on reflex. 

Something hissed and popped and the scream – the real scream, not the taunting in his head – echoed through the chamber.

“I always disliked you.” The monster hissed, familiar voice leaking from the giant maw.

“Verstael?” He stared, aghast for a moment before he collected himself. “I like this, it’s an improvement.” 

The monster snarled and leapt at him – and for something the size of an airship it was fucking fast - he slid under one of the clawed appendages and struck upwards. “Since when is ‘getting into someone’s head’ no longer a euphemism for you?”

“I improved myself. I made this body.” The light at the end of a tentacle brightened, and suddenly the scientist stood before him. “So that I might overcome the weakness of the flesh.”

He gave a low whistle, and spun to cut into the clawed appendage – arm? Hand? It looked like a giant fish he’d seen in a textbook, complete with far too many teeth and the glowy tentacle thing. But it had feet…sort of. 

It was a nightmare to look at, especially when it kept shifting to try to lie to him. 

“Couldn’t you just upload your consciousness into a computer system like every other deranged scientist?” He asked, flicking his blade to get rid of the slime. 

Slime. Of course there was slime. He had been half frozen, scared out of his mind, climbed too many stairs and now was facing his old enemy in a new and more powerful body. Why would there not be slime? 

“You are nothing but a meal, Cor the ‘Immortal’.” Verstael snarled, clawed flipper - Probably a flipper. Maybe a vestigial hand? Taxonomy was not his field – slamming into the tank he had taken cover under.

“Seems like you’ve eaten enough. Perhaps we’ll put you on a diet?” He retorted, mind racing as he tried to figure out how to kill the thing. 

The clawed appendage hit the tank again. He looked up at the dented metal, considering. There was every chance he could get himself with the super cooled fog, but he very much doubted the slime coat with like getting doused with that many chemicals.

He sighed, drew a deep breath, and focused on fire, sheeting his sword to charge the blow before he struck.

The world was filled almost immediately in white.


	61. Chapter 61

The water lapping against the dock was quiet, soothing. He was warm, comfortable, and contented. 

The last few steps would take him to the boat, and from the boat…there was peace. A rest. Peace and rest. 

His boot scraped the stone, barely lifting as he considered the walk down. There wasn’t any coming back from that peace. He knew that. He knew that with an uncanny sureness. But it was tempting, for a moment, to go down to sit on the boat, to let the water carry him away. To where Clarus waited. To acknowledge that he was not good enough.

He was too stubborn to give up. He knew he wouldn’t go. But it was nice to indulge in the peacefulness for a moment. 

“What is _this?!_ ” Verstael snarled to his left. “Some new Lucian trick?”

The researcher was standing next to him, scowling at the dock. 

He turned his head a little bit, studying him. There was no sign of the monster he had become, only the man. The man was more than monstrous enough, really. Death was more than he deserved. He deserved to suffer. “I think this is death.”

Verstael scoffed. “Death? What a childish claim!” 

He snorted, suddenly amused. “Guess you didn’t overcome the weakness of the flesh after all. Go check it out. There should be a boat. Who know where your ledger will take you.” Die and rot, bastard. He wanted to say it, but it sounded profane, here in this holy place. 

Verstael took a step down, heading towards the dock. He watched him go, not feeling any real desire to follow him. Someone was holding tightly to his wrist, and he turned very slightly, smiling at the green-haired woman.

“You are not finished yet.” She murmured, finger brushing over her lip, covering it with red liquid that she placed on his lip. “Live.” 

The warm of the fluid almost frightened him, but he had been expecting it. If he could expect it. It throbbed on his lip, and when he licked his lip throbbed through his body. Beat. Beat. Beat. 

It was almost intoxicating. 

She watched him with dead eyes, lips gleaming with the red wetness she had given him. He felt an odd desire to kiss her. He didn’t, and she smiled, a bare twist of those red lips. 

The thunder of the one drop she had given him was pulsing in his head and chest, shuddering through him. “Who…?” 

His vision darkened, the staircase becoming fuzzy and indistinct. But he heard her laugh, the warm ripple of her voice soothing some primal fear within him. “You know who I am.”

Did he? Could he? He had said her name in the dream, once, but he couldn’t remember what he had said. Couldn’t remember the shape of that name at all.

“Tell me.” He whispered, as the world faded around him. 

He was suddenly intensely cold, except for two points against his neck. 

But the cold was fading. 

The clone was leaning over him, blue eyes wide with deep concern. 

“Ow.” He rasped. 

The clone giggled, shuddering and looking back to the door. 

What had become of Verstael was slumped on its side near the tank, which had exploded outwards, taking the two tanks next to it with it. The entire room was caked with ice.   
“Pulled me out?” He asked the clone.

The kid nodded, still rubbing hands over his exposed skin – warming him up. 

“Thanks.” He told him, distant.

The clone nodded again, peering into the room. 

He didn’t really want to go back into the room, not with his body already chilled. Couldn’t happen to a worse person, really. Verstael had long ago made up his mind about who he was and what he was going to do with his life. They fact that so many others had died for him was what made the whole thing fucking tragic. 

He clasped the clone on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze and forcing himself to a sitting position. “You did good.” 

The clone beamed at him. 

It took some work to get back to his feet, his entire body feeling buzzy and weird. That distant beat still thundering inside his head. “Is it dead?”

The clone gave a faint shrug. 

He sighed and fingered his sword, walking slowly back into the slush. “Stay there. I need to make sure it is dead.”

Where exactly was the brain on this thing? It was burned, and frozen. The massive jaw half split along the bone. It was still smoking, hissing a spitting. Super-heated and super cooled almost within the same moment. 

He sunk his blade into one of the massive eyes, just to make sure, before he walked back to meet his clone. “Take me to the specimen floor.”

The clone nodded, still looking at him with somewhat wild eyes. 

Probably hadn’t seen someone come back from the dead yet. Poor kid. “You really helped out. You did great. Anything else attacks us, you do just what you did.”

The clone hesitated, but nodded quickly, agreeing. 

They headed back up the stairs, the clone darting a few steps ahead to peer through the doors.

It left him time to ponder, to think about the green-haired woman who had met him on the docks. He had died. Just for a few moments, but he was sure he had died, and she had brought him back. Why? He had never seen her before. Shouldn’t she have been Aera? But the woman had looked nothing like Aera. The power had been different too. Salty, and…odd. 

He would ask Ardyn about it once he found the man. But right now….he traced his thumb over his lip.

Right now it was just a puzzle. One he had not enough clues to solve. He wanted to know what had happened, but he had no idea what had.

He amused himself for several moments imagining Verstael turned away from every afterlife, no shore accepting him. 

It would serve him exactly right.


	62. Chapter 62

Wedge jerked to nervous attention as they came around the corner, and then slumped. "Where did you go?"

"Slayed the monster." He tapped his sword. "Nip, Wedge, Wedge, Nip. He's friendly. Ardyn inside?"

Wedge glanced at the clone, clearly confused.

Nip looked equally puzzled, mouthing his newly assigned name.

He left the kids to sort that out, striding into the containment room.

Ravus was sitting on Ifrit's shoulder, Aranea punched on his knee.

Ardyn was standing next to him, but broke away and came to join him, wrapping his arms around him. "I need you to stop doing things like this."

"I'll try." He settled his chin on Ardyn's shoulder. "I killed Verstael. Or whatever he became."

Ardyn sighed softly. "Are you injured?"

He paused, considering. "I think I died for a few seconds."

Ardyn tensed, then sighed. "I am the immortal one. How do you keep doing this? People are going to assume you are truly unkillable."

He shrugged. "And what are they going to do? Try to kill me more?"

"I am no longer sure who it is I should pray to keep you alive." Ardyn replied ruefully, pressing his face to his shoulder with a faint groan.

"Well a few of them actively want me dead. So not those?"

Ardyn huffed and pulled away. "Perhaps I will ask the Infernian for a boon."

"Lightbringer." He corrected mildly. "Probably a better way to get him to give you something is to refer to him by his proper title."

Ardyn sighed deeply. "One day. Perhaps in many years, we shall sit down and write the story between us of all the strangeness that has embroiled our lives. And then at last I will understand everywhere you have been and what you have seen."

He smiled, liking that picture of the future. "Very well. When we at last become old men. How close is he to awakening?"

"A few moments or a thousand years. It is hard to say.” Ardyn turned away at last. “Aranea claims that it will be soon. But if ‘soon’ for an Astral being is a few moments or a few eons I do not know.” 

“Soon.” Aranea repeated. “He will wake just fine without you watching, Caelum.”

“Forgive me my dear, but I would rather be here for this. He has been rather abused by humans of late.”

Aranea gave him a long look, and then switched her gaze to him. “You survived.”

“As always.” He gave her a mild, sloppy salute. “Where did you find Ravus?”

“In the Crèches where we were raised.” She turned away, looking back down at the slumbering Astral.

“Bad?” He asked Ardyn.

“The machines continued to make the infants, even though no one was here to look after them. Several had starved to death, others were born so deformed and misshapen that they could not have lived long enough to starve. It was…difficult. Such tanks birthed their brothers.” Ardyn sighed, shaking his head. “There was nothing we could do to save them.”

“The mature clones seem to be alive, though he was feeding off of them. One of them woke up and helped me through.” He nodded back to the doorway. “He’s with Wedge. How did the kid take things?”

“About as one could be expected. I doubt he will be eating soon. He will recover, but he was…unseasoned.”

“How are we going to get Ifrit on the transport, that’s my question?” He watched Ravus sink down, cheek tucked against the Lightbringer’s shoulder, eyes closing. 

“Do you think he will?” Ardyn sounded mildly amused. 

He shrugged, rubbing his shoulder. “At this point? Nothing surprises me.”

Ardyn chuckled softly. “Oh I am sure something still will, my love.” 

The Infernian chose that moment to sit, remaining hand lifting to keep Ravus in place gently. Aranea leapt lightly to the other shoulder, as though it was no great effort. The hand moved between them, stroking gently, carefully. 

Ifrit turned towards then, a low rumble of a growl vibrating the air. 

He could feel the pressure in his head, almost a demand. He moved forward slowly, and sunk to a knee. 

Ardyn murmured something behind him, but made no move to stop him. 

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the ring, holding it out flat palmed. 

There was silence, a very heavy pause, the feeling of weight within his mind.

_~~**I accept your offer of service, Cor Leonis** ~~ _

He squinted a bit, trying to lessen the tension in his mind, to shrug off the throbbing that shook through him. A massive finger touched the top of his hand, closing his fingers over the ring. 

Ardyn whispered something behind him, something important. But the power was thumbing through him and he couldn’t hear him.

He could taste the sharp, salty richness on his tounge, rolling down his throat. Filling him up from every inch of himself. 

His arm burned, flames wreathing him. 

He could hear – feel – the heart beating beside him. Thundering within its cage it burned. 

_~~**You have done well.**~~_

The voice followed him down into the pit he was being dragged into. There was a hiss and a pop, as something came very close to him, something tangled around him. 

He could feel a strange sort of fury then, not from the Astral that touched him, but from the one he had fought. 

Bahamut knew.


	63. Chapter 63

There was a war going on in his skin, a fight that burned through him, crystalized within him. 

For a moment, he was in another place, inside another skin. Regis. He knew. They suffered together as the power lashed between them, his tie to the bloodline was secondary, though Ardyn, but Bahamut had taken control of the shield bond long ago and now, in this moment, used it to reach inside him and scrape the fragments of the crystals power out of him.   
He had used Mors’ magic as a guard. He had used Regis’ magic as a guard. He had been as close to the Lucian bloodline as one could be without being born of blood himself. He had used it as a child. He had benefited from it his entire life. He had grown to adulthood on Lucian soil. 

Now Bahamut used those threads to reach and pull, through Regis. 

The hollow echo of Regis’ screams inside his head, the press of power so alien and unfettered as it snaked through him.

Regis would never. Mors would never do this. Ardyn had fought against this.

But Bahamut would. Bahamut had. Bahamut was. 

Ifrit fought within his skin, a proxy war, with him in the middle. Bahamut moved with ill intent, but Ifirt attempted to protect him, to keep Bahamut from Scouring important parts away. But still he knew he was being changed, being remade. 

One could not contain the fury of two Astrals without being remade. One could not contain the fury of two Astrals would walking so perilously close to death as to feel the waters closing around him. 

But what saw him through was not Ifrit’s attempts to protect him, it was the woman who kneeled before him, hands locked around the back of his neck, forehead pressed to his, flames dancing up her skin. Aera no longer looked like Aera. She was as wreathed in flame as Shiva with ice, her eyes – once gentle and blue – now glowed orange like the coals in the center of the fire. Her lips were flame, whispering against his mouth. 

Aera had accepted this reshaping, had done this because she wanted them both to live with a keenness that was shocking. But she was there too, with Regis, with Ifrit, with Bahamut. She was with him in the heart of the storm. 

She would never be Aera again after this, only the phoenix. He grieved for her. He grieved with her. He felt the secret parts of herself she was relinquishing. 

Tears ran down both their faces, mingling, turning to crystal as they fell. 

Distantly, he spared concern for Nip and Wedge, who would have no resistance to this flame that he knew must be engulfing him. 

They had gone beyond screaming, they had gone beyond all feeling except for this. 

He drifted between here and now, and then, and elsewhere and whens where Noctis stood as an adult at the steps of the Citadel, prepared to face Ardyn and die. 

He cried out, refusing that future. Refusing it for the boy that he loved so dearly, who curled up on his chest and whispered his insecurities. 

He felt Regis take that, convert it into his own fury, and fight against the energy pulsing through him. 

They all burned together.   
*~*

He felt the stop like a physical thing, hitting him with the force of a train.

He and Aera were jerked apart, as were Ifrit and Bahamut. He saw Regis across the scape of stars and the entire universe placed between them. 

“Regis!” He tried to scramble to his feet, but lost his footing and fell to the ground. 

“Regis!” Another voice echoed his, and Clarus was charging across the space, dropping to the ground next to his king, lifting him into his arms. “Regis.”

Regis looked like a ragdoll, almost completely limp in the arms of his shield. 

“Is he dead?” He demanded, when his legs wouldn’t hold him up.

“No. No. Just exhausted.” Clarus touched his face, stroking the hair back and lifting him tenderly into his arms. 

“Good.” He let himself slump to the star scape, bewildered, confused, watching as the Astrals – the Six compete – slowly collected themselves. 

Bahamut looked the most bewildered, unmasked and looking uncannily like Somnus. He turned, wings thrown out wide, reduced to a human size that was not near as intimidating. “You did this.”

Ifrit chuckled, red-hair curled around his shoulders, nude except the bands around his arms and brow. “I? Brother. Surely.” 

Shiva collected herself, glancing towards him, then to Aera. “I would think, my brothers, that the very same influence that has halted us before stands among us.”

Ifrit turned towards him, seeming to weigh him for a moment. “I see that you speak truly, Shiva. Well, brother. Shall you force it? Or retreat again into your contemplations?”

He knew the taunt for what it was, though he was not sure what they referred to, these great creatures. 

Aera – or what had once been Aera – rolled to her feet. She was dressed in a feathered cape of many colors, and her hair was no more hair than Shiva’s, but a fine fall of feathers around her shoulders. Her hands were small and birdlike, covered in fine feathers. The look she gave him was birdlike and strange, eyes too big and dark for her alien face.

“I will take my rightful place.” Bahamut snarled, lifting a sword.   
There was a sound like bells, the moment Bahamut lifted the blade he was cast back again.

Silence filled the ring of Astrals.

Leviathan drew herself up, staring. “What?”

“There will be no war fought here today.” Shiva intoned.

“Nor shall your rage reshape the world again.” A voice that seemed somehow quiet but reached every corner of the space. A woman holding a babe had appeared among them, cloaked in black and solemn eyed.

Shiva reached for something, frowning, seeming disquieted. “How did you?”

“As I must.” The woman said. “As our father has ordained.”

“Our father.” Bahamut scoffed. “Our father has been gone in his dreaming, drifting in sleep since the world began.” 

The woman locked eyes with him, ice blue chips in her otherwise pale face. “Life doth exist, so to must death.”

“Lessa?” He found himself mouthing, rising up to his knees. He could feel a tug, a push. Something guiding him away from this place. “Regis! Clarus! Lessa!”

The last thing he saw was Clarus casting himself forward, covering Regis with his own body. The last thing he heard was Alessa’s voice, her child self’s voice, repeating as though in a nursery rhyme. “Decay exists so life might flow, fire guides the seeds that grow, water nourishes until it drowns, and the storms bring winds and light around. In the womb of earth we dwell, where winters kiss must break the spell. Above them all our father dwells, to him we confess and always will.”


	64. Chapter 64

His feet brushed the surface of the water, distorting his reflection into something unfamiliar. 

The man was sitting next to him, one elbow resting on his knee, single eye fixed on the ripples distorting their reflections on the water. “Memory is like that at times.”

He frowned a little, not sure what the man meant, lifting his head to study him through his eyelashes. “What?” 

“It changes over time, grows more distorted and strange. Those that we knew no longer resemble our reality. The trusted friend becomes the foe.” The man sighed, shaking his head. “The child becomes the traitor you need watch yourself against.”  
He nodded, kicking the water.

“Ah, yes. With more force the distance grows. Still, a part of me had hoped….” The man sighed and clapped his shoulder fondly. “I wonder what shall become of this memory?”

He shrugged, but the man was gone, and he sat alone at the end of the dock without him.

The water slowly stilled, he looked down at himself, laying on a stone with water streaming off his body. His eyes were open and staring, the stone on his chest was burning. He could see the web of burning skin forming around it.

He frowned, studying himself through the water. How did he get back? 

He leaned forward, reaching his hands into the water and fell. 

The water was vicious, strange, supporting his weight even as he was drawn deeper into it. 

He was hurt. He was badly hurt. His hands felt raw, his shirt half burned away. 

There was a smell like burned wool in the air. 

He groaned, hauling himself to his hands and knees, pressing them weakly to his chest when he had found his footing. He was still wearing the coat and the coat, sword at his side and the pants – the same one he had gained from the other world – were entirely intact. 

The ring burned around his finger, but he didn’t try to remove it. 

He could feel the bond within his mind like a throbbing live wire, but there was nothing around him. Ifrit was gone, so were his children. Ardyn was gone, but he could feel him. There was nothing left of the facility except pitted rock, scorched into the ground. Flames and steam still rising from it.

The sky above him was dark and studded with stars.

He drew the cloak around him, turning in a slow circle within the new canyon. Trying to find some way out with the gap of sky above him.  
There had been no one behind him, he was sure of it. He had checked. But still there was a scrape of an armored foot against the stone and the weight of it shuddered over his shoulders. 

“We’ll finish this.” Somnus said quietly behind him. “That ring you wear is mine.”

He closed his eyes, dropping his hand to his sword. “By birth or blood?”

“By both. I am the blood of the Lightbringer.” Somnus sounded less than convinced of himself. 

He was so tired. So tired of this quest, so tired of this fight. So tired of knowing that this would come.

“Thank you.” He said quietly. “I know that you helped us where you could.”

“I serve.” Somnus snarled. “Turn and face me, coward.” 

He sighed, ignoring the pain in his hands as he drew his sword. “I will break the chains.” 

Somnus was wearing the full armor of his Luci form, not the occasional gentle garb he wore when he met them. 

They met in a clash of swords that shuddered through his shoulders, and broke open the burns on his hands. The fluid made his fingers slick on the grip of it, but he refused to let the blade escape his grasp as they clashed. 

Somnus had the advantage, armor, an immortal body that could either not be harmed or healed from the injuries as soon as he took them. He was littered with small cuts where Somnus had broken his guard for a moment. Nothing deep, but the wounds added to the ones he already had and sapped his strength. 

He fell back and adjusted his grip on the sword, a moment, only, but Somnus was a fast and agile fighter, and moment was all he needed to close the distance between them with his sword held high, ready to strike him down.

His sword met another with an explosive clang.

He fell back, startled, and nearly hit the ground. 

Clarus stood before him, a long flame colored cloak twisting behind him, sword held high. He was in full armor, save the helm. He looked…alive, almost glowing. 

“Clarus?” Confused, startled, and feeling the prickling of tears in his eyes. It had been an exhausting day, a troubling one, and here was the person who had saved his ass countless times. 

Clarus turned over his shoulder, giving him a warm smile. “I owe him one. Go on, Cor. This isn’t your fight.” 

“It isn’t? Clarus, how?” He stepped forward, but his brother shook his head. 

“Go on, Cor. There is something you still have to do. Hurry.” Clarus turned back to face Somnus with a grin. “No hostages this time. A fair fight.”

“A fair fight.” Somnus echoed, armored head turning towards him for only a moment. “Very well.”

The clash between them raised dust particles and shattered stone, hands aching and slick, he sheathed the sword, and staggered for a gap in the stone.


	65. Chapter 65

He ran until his lungs started to burn, his back seizing up in a cramp. Until all that had happened that day caught up with his battered, exhausted body. He kept going a little bit past that, but knew he would collapse. Did collapse, tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs that had no purpose. He punched the wall with a swear that wasn’t quite words, furious with his own weakness. Hating that he couldn’t manage this. A few more steps, surely. He had fought through all of this and his own body betrayed him? 

He slept, probably, or else drifted on the frightful edge of oblivion. He could feel the heart beating against his own, in time with the throbbing of his hand. Ifrit had scorched him, or else the fight with Bahamut had. The Lucii’s magic was not compatible with whatever was being done to him.

He slept, and for once dreamed only nonsense. No one walked his dreams, nobody asked him questions. He was just there, neither existing nor not existing. Until his ravaged body decided it could operate, in theory. 

He woke with an aching frame, with hands that were just a little bit too pink to be entirely healed, but otherwise the wounds had closed. He drank some of the water that had filled a depression in the rocks, and then remembered that he had Clarus’ flask in one of his pockets and withdrew it, drinking from it with a hand that wasn’t quite as steady as he wanted it to be. He found a roll of crackers and some dried fruit in another pocket and ate it slowly, afraid he would throw it up. 

He slept more after that, the flask held tight to his chest, the memory held tighter. He had no idea how Clarus had intervened in the Astral realm, had no clue how he had come to be there at all, or here, when facing Somnus. But he had, and he had seemed real for all that he had not touched him at all.

If the only good that came from this was finding a way to bring Clarus back…

He had seen more impossible things than that. If the gods could but grant him that one boon. 

When he woke again his hands were well, whole. Had he slept eight years away again? He had no idea, but his legs held him as he rolled to his feet, and the half full flask he slipped back into a pocket as he staggered on through the path that the rocks made. 

There was no way but onward, no method but to go forward onto this mission.

No grief and longing but what he carried in his heart. 

He stopped at the cave entrance, squinting into the dark, trying to make sense of the moving shapes within it. Another fight, he was sure, and while he relished the chance to do something his body was _tired_ in a way he could never recall feeling before. The shape in the darkness was mostly that of teeth and overlong limbs, a too long face, and loose movement. It wore the tattered remains of a white cloak, and staggered about the open area hissing to itself. 

“My friend.” Kincaid’s voice was gentle behind him. “My dear friend. This one is for me, not for you.”

He squinted, and the form of the green knight who had dodged his steps appeared out of the gloom. “You?”

“Me.” Kincaid agreed, reaching to remove his helm. “The position was lacking, you see. It’s former occupant had died in a war, much like I did.” The smile was ready, and easy. “This next one is mine.” 

He stared, uncomprehending, as Kincaid drew a bottle from his jacket, fashioning it into a makeshift explosive that he lit and tossed into the room.

Something screamed in the darkness beyond. 

“Kincaid, Wedge he-“

“My son is fine. Tell him I approve.” Kincaid gave him a gentle smile. “Go on, the last is yours.” 

“What is it? Clarus faced Somnus…I…” He lingered, anxious, staring at the monster beyond. Caught between wanting to keep going and wanting to steal a few more moments. 

“Aldercapt the elder. Or what remains of him.” Kincaid twisted up his face. “We were foes once, in another life, and now foes again in this one. I will fight this battle for you, Cor. Another waits. See this through.” Kincaid twisted, clasping his arm. 

“Alec….” 

Alec grinned. “You have taken me on a fascinating journey, my friend. This is the least I can do for you. Go. I will handle him. Forever, so that he might be banished from hurting our peoples any longer. The last Emperor of Nifilheim.” 

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “Thank you. I am glad you were with me.” Tears burned at his eyes, distorting his vision, but did not fall. “I will leave him to you then.” 

He ran, and heard the opening salvo behind him. A gun, of course. Like his son. Damned fool, damned terrible choice if the gods were choosing new messengers. 

There was no one in the dark of the tunnels to see if he cried.


	66. Chapter 66

It was something of a relief when he stepped onto the familiar ground of Gilgamesh's bridge.

So. It would end here.

His hand dropped to his sword at his side, wind catching the cloak and spreading it behind him to snap in the air.

The proving grounds were empty for the moment, the far wall blocked with swords but throbbing with an odd light he could feel thrumming through his own skin. Beat. Beat. Beat.

 

"I have been expecting you, Cor Leonis." The voice was gentle, bordering on pleasant.

"I can't say I expected to end up here, but somehow I am not surprised I ended up here." He commented, watching the tattered ghost appear.

Gilgamesh stood, hand braced on his sword. "Where else should it end but where it began? You were made here."

He snorted. "Made? Sorry, but no. I was born Lucis. I met Ardyn in Lucis. You? You were only ever footnote in my story. A single fight."

He thought the ghost smiled. "In a life of so many, I can see why you would think thusly. But here your hand fell upon that sword, and here you challenged fate." The armored head tilted. "Do you think you will win?"

He moistened his lips with his tongue. "Win or die. Those are my only choices."

"No. There is another. Give up the heart and the sword and we will let you live." Gilgamesh chuckled.

"That's not even a consideration." He grinned, drawing his sword free. "Unless you want to give up."

"We both knew it would end like this. As soon as you dipped the sword into the waters of death. So we shall, as we both knew it must be." Gilgamesh told him warmly, tone almost fond.

He adjusted his grip on the sword and drew a deep breath, centering himself. "Why did you sign with Bahamut, anyway? Why choose destruction?"

A small pause, the sense of a smile. "Our father has abandoned us. Left us to look after you pitiable mortals. Granted his favor to such as you." A shift, and he reacted, parrying the blow before his mind had fully processed that Gilgamesh had moved.

The exchange lasted a few quick moments, steel sliding, clashing, jarring him up to the shoulders. They both sought distance again.

"Enough of words. Show me your desires with your sword. Show me your will. If you are to live, give thought only to this."

He drew a sharp, lung filling breath.

They met again. Speed and skill tested against the edge of the others blade. 

The sun which had only newly risen traveled slowly across the sky. A blow from his sword destroyed a swath of rusted sword, a blow from Gilgamesh nearly took his right eye and left a gash just above it that bled and obscured his vision. 

The clash of their swords and the gasps of their breathing made an odd music surrounding them.

They danced to it, or it danced to them  
Contact, contact, retreat.

Gilgamesh bled freely, rusted armor providing little protection. It took him some time to realize the man was as much flesh as he was. A man, not a ghost. A man capable of bleeding.

He twisted a blow to his chest away, tangling their swords together in such a way that they both flew several places away.

The face half revealed beneath the mask smiled, such an odd expression for the situation.

He reached for his sword and found himself standing next to it, Skip dancing and tossing his head right behind him, he spun, sword sinking to the hilt into the chest of his opponent. Blood bubbled up between the chapped skin, and the smile returned, eyes locking on his face.

He was aware that Gilgamesh had stabbed him through the leg, but he honestly couldn't feel it. 

"Finally." The whisper was soft, accompanied by more blood bubbling up between his lips.

He stood back, withdrew his sword, and watched with some surprise as the man slumped to the ground. 

He staggered back towards Skip, leaning on him to check the wound on his leg. It had gone through muscle in his thigh, and would probably hurt like hell when the adrenalin wore off. Had to remove it and get it bandaged.

Skip whickered against his neck, nuzzling him gently.

"Thanks." He muttered, running hand down his neck. "Where'd you come from?"

Another nuzzle.

"I gotta get this out. Walking with it will only make it worse." He told the horse.

Skip nuzzled under his shoulder, making it easier to lean while he performed the awkward task of removing the sword.

It hurt, he may have blacked out. The sword was barbed and every shift felt like it sawed through bone.

He managed to get it packed, poured the rest of the alcohol from Clarus' flask on it and pressed his face to Skip's neck as he struggled to get the pain under control.

Skip was a tolerant leaning post, nuzzling under his shoulder and chest, lipping at his hair.

He gave himself a few moments before he managed to gather himself enough to limp to Gilgamesh's body. There was no pulse, just a pool of blood beneath him.

He unhooked the ring of keys, leaning into Skip's shoulder again as he limped to the stone wall Gilgamesh had spent so long on guard before. 

It throbbed under his hands, and it took him until the sun had sunk completely beneath the horizon to find the keyhole and the proper key for it.

The wall ground against itself as it withdrew, ancient mechanism complaining with age at the required movement.

A thin, lit corridor stood before him, shallow incline making him swallow hard against the thought of the forthcoming agony of decent.

Skip nosed his shoulder.

"I think it's too narrow for you." He muttered, stuffing the keys into a pouch. "It's just me this time."

Skip lipped his ear, bobbing his head a bit.

"Thanks for coming." He told the horse fondly, scratching his chin before putting a hand to the wall and starting down. The heart at his side was beating frantically, he could feel it through the skin of his leg. Or maybe that was the wound, throbbing. Beat. Beat. Beat.


	67. Chapter 67

He walked, hand pressed against the wall as he went deeper in. The stone was throbbing, the light deepening, fading away.

The tunnel narrowed and felt like it moved around him. 

"The womb of Earth." He muttered, fingers trailing along the wall. "'Lessa?"

He found himself walking faster, eager to see the child. He had helped raise her, he adored her. She was as much his as she was Ardyn's.

He wanted to see her, to hold her. Take her home.

The hall opened up into a main chamber, a statue stood center wrists chained above her head, and body draped in ripples of carved cloth.

She looked like Aera and Sylva. Or else both women resembled her. She also resembled the woman who had met him on the docks.

The heart was beating rapidly at his side, and he was reminded of the taste that had filled his mouth, warm, salty, tasting of the dark earth.

"You could taste that always." Sylva's voice said quietly behind him. Fingers brushed against the back of his neck. "And join Ardyn in his immortality if you eat it."

He jerked away, turning to look at her. Her eyes were empty, but her face was unmarked again. There was an odd back echo.

"You think to convince me by puppeting my friend?" He snapped. "I know better than to fall for your tricks, Bahamut. That is no longer her you use. I pray she gone beyond your reach, as she deserves. For you are a liar, as you have always been."

Sylva's hand folded over her stomach. "Still. If you wish to live...well. this is not the path. You would not survive her revival."

He turned, searching the shadows for his daughter.

"Her spirit lied to you. They are dead." Sylva said, tone gentle. 

He snorted, stepping closer to the statue, drawing up the cage into his hands.

He twisted the cage, seeking the key from among them.

"So you wish your death?" Sylva asked.

"All men die, Bahamut. You would do well to remember it." The cage opened, and the smell of it washed over him. Intoxicating, desirable.

“But you need not die. Not here, not ever. For you it could be everlasting. Give but this moment to your desires.” The words held almost no trace of Sylva’s voice, only the ghostly rumble of the dragon controlling her shape. 

His mouth watered. He could not help it. He had tasted it before, just a taste. Barely a drop. But his body remembered it, remembered the feeling that had stolen over him. It would be so easy – just another small taste, a small taste was all he needed. 

“Yes. Do it. That is what you mortals want, isn’t it?” Bahamut mocked. “An eternity. Everlasting, never ending. You would at last be what you claim to be.”

He had never claimed immortality. The thought penetrated the seductive fog – if it was the heart alone or Bahamut’s work, he could not be sure. But he had never asked for the title, never asked for it in truth. 

He wanted only the strength it took to protect those he loved.

Alessa. Luna. Noctis. Aeran. Iris who could never hear her father’s laugh, or know how much he had adored her. The lost children of Lucis, stolen by Bahamut. He knew what way Bahamut’s promises led. They did not lead back to the life he wished to lead, they did not lead back to Ardyn. 

They waited for him in the womb of earth. He trusted Alessa’s words more than anything else. 

It really was not much of a choice, he could not hold the heart for long without it overwhelming him. Inaction was an action, a choice. He could not let that choice be stolen from him. He surged forward before Bahamut could guess his intent, could move to stop him. The heart was meat, he feared for a moment that he had crushed it against the chest of the statue. But he could still feel it beating, throbbing against his hand. 

There was nothing for a moment, but then fine webs of cracks started to form. Spreading further and further until chunks of stones fell away.

The astral beneath drew a breath and screamed, twisting wildly within the chains, chest heaving as she drew breath and coughed up chunks of stone.

He heard a hiss behind him, a snarl that was entirely inhuman, and then something sharp burst from his chest.

The tines glistened with his blood.


	68. Chapter 68

The trident withdrew almost as soon as it entered him, leaving him with a breathless sort of feeling as he staggered forward a step.

"Turn and face your death, Cor Leonis. Your task is done. The gods will save you no more." The light, lilting lift of Sylva's was almost entirely masked by the grating hiss of Bahamut's.

Uselessly, reflexive, he pressed his hand to his chest as blood bubbled up through the holes. How long did he have? Was it enough to stab the dragon?

"It is as I told you, as I foretold. You would not live through her revival."

"Fu..." He gasped out, going to his knees. No. Needed to get his hand in his sword. Needed to get up. Needed to end the scourge by killing its master. 

"Thus ended the life of a truly irritating mortal." He saw the shadow of the trident as it was lifted, prepared to stab him again. 

"It is not a prophecy if you yourself bring it about. Then it is merely stating your plans in high vernacular." Ardyn's voice was full of scorn but the hand that settled on the back of his neck was gentle and familiar. "Get up, Cor. A little scratch like that will not be the end of you."

Ardyn's power washed through him in a tide of warmth, the injuries melting away at his touch.

"Ardyn." The snarl was almost a growl. Nearly there.

He took a deep breath and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Thanks."

Ardyn stroked the back of his neck. "Shall we end this, my love?"

"I think it is time." He agreed, getting his legs back under him and drew the sword from him side. "New ring?"

Ardyn smiled, twisting his hand. "Regis loaned it to me. He waits for us beyond, and has sworn me to returning. With you intact."

He snorted. "Well, we have to keep Regis happy."

"Indeed, the young king would be very displeased if he does not get the chance to yell at you himself."

Sylva's face was twisted into a mask of hatred so intense it was almost palpable. "You will fail in this quest."

Ardyn laughed. "You already have. That you grasp so tightly to an order that is shifting is childish, Lord Bahamut. Whatever the result of this battle. Eos lives, Ifrit walks, and your time has ended."

Trident gripped in their hands, Sylva’s body screamed and launched itself at Ardyn.

The staff crossed in front of him, casting the twisted form back. “Fight us with your own face, demon. Do not demean her with your continued use of her!” 

There was a confidence there he felt sorely lacking in, but then Ardyn had always been better at words than he was. 

Bahamut snarled, lifting a hand to the borrowed face and ripping skin away to reveal Somnus’ beneath it. “Is this better, prince of nothing?” The mocking overlay was even creepier with Sylva’s voice within it.

“Another stolen life. How many must you take until you are satisfied?” Ardyn asked, sword in one hand, staff in the other, face a mask of stone. 

Behind them, Eos writhed, still screaming, still fighting with her bonds.

“I need-“

“Go.” Ardyn replied, easily, confidently. 

He nodded, shooting one last look at Bahamut’s twisted face, part Somnus, Part Sylva – all wrong. 

He climbed Eos for lack of a better option, talking to her gently as he did. She calmed, somewhat, watching him with green eyes large enough he could fall into them. Whatever her heart at done to save him, she clearly didn’t remember. But she clearly recognized that he was trying to unchain her while Ardyn kept Bahamut busy beneath them. 

He managed one hand, and she caught and lifted him on it to her other wrist, lowering him to her face with a puzzled furrow to her brow. “Who are you?” 

He knew the words should not be understood, but something in his mind accepted and adapted them. “Lady Eos, I am Cor Leonis. Please. If you can find it within you now, help us. The Blademaster is beneath, and the man who fights him is Ardyn Lucis Caelum.”

“Caelum.” She looked down at Ardyn, tears welling in her eyes. “My son was called Caelum.”

He gritted his teeth. “Lady…”

Her gaze snapped back to him, eyes narrowed. “So be it.” 

She dropped him, only she didn’t. The entire world _rippled_ for lack of a better term and they – he, Ardyn and Bahamut – stood once again in the middle of the crystal. 

Bahamut swore, sheading the skin he wore with a flick of his wings. “WHY! Why you! Why is it always you?!”

Ardyn pulled him to his feet. “Humans are choosing their own fate, so the wheel turns. Things change.” He said it loftily, but through the bond he could feel the unease. Ardyn was hiding something. “Those who cannot adapt are doomed, as you are, Lord Bahamut.”

He gave Ardyn’s hand a squeeze, and felt the return tightening of fingers before they both turned away to face the dragon. 

The ring on Ardyn’s finger burned like a small star – so bright it hurt to look at.

“The souls of the children of Lucis find you wanting.” Ardyn said the words softly, but they filled the crystal’s chamber almost to the brim with spirits. “They have judged you.”

“No.” Bahamut’s voice was a snarl, blades flying outward in every direction, destroying entire swathes of souls.

It clearly hurt Ardyn, staggered the man, he stepped in, hands pressing against his shoulders, caressing. Saying without saying that he was with him, as he had always been. 

Ardyn drew a breath. “We reject you, Oh Blademaster. We reject your rule.” There again was the tiny shake of his voice. The souls began to cry out. 

The world was one filled with light.


	69. Chapter 69

“Uncle Cor!” Noctis launched at him, little arms snaked around his waist.

He picked up the kid, hugging him tight, fluffing his hair. “How’s my favorite prince?”

Noctis grinned at him. “Glad I’m still a prince.”

“Your dad wake up yet?” He asked, carrying the boy into the makeshift medical station. They were supposed to make him walk, really. Or use the chair. But sometimes he couldn’t resist the desire to scoop him up. He doubted he’d be too big to carry any time soon, but he loved his nephew dearly. 

“Not yet. But mom says he might soon.” Noctis leaned against his shoulder, breath warm against his throat. 

He rubbed the kid’s back. “Are you being nicer to Ignis?”

“Trying. It’s not his fault my leg is hurt. Mom’s helping more.” Noctis wrapped the cord of his necklace around his fingers. “What about you?”

“What about me?” He asked, jostling the kid gently on his hip.

“Are you going to wake up?” Noctis asked quietly. 

He stopped, staring down at the kid, brow furrowed. “I am awake, Noctis.”

Noctis frowned at him. “No. You’re dreaming. We’re just dreaming together. It’s ok. I like seeing you in my dreams. But are you going to wake up? I know everyone misses you.” 

“Noctis…I.” 

Noctis chewed on his lip, studying his face. “Sometimes, it’s easier to sleep through it. It’s really scary, and maybe it will hurt. But I know…I know you should wake up.” 

He held the kid as tight as he could, lump in his throat. “I…”

“It won’t ever be the same.” Noctis told him, pulling the cord out from under his shirt, playing with the pendant. “But I know it will be better to have you home.” 

“Right.” He pressed a kiss to Noctis’ forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

Noctis hugged him around the neck, holding tightly for a long time. 

He knelt down, settling the kid on his feet, hands on his shoulders. “Noctis…”

The kid grinned, a soft, shy expression. “It’s ok, Uncle Cor. We’ve all got stuff, right?” The boy looked away, glancing over his shoulder. “Mom’s calling me. You should go. Wake up, Uncle Cor.” 

The kid vanished, proving more than anything that this was a dream. He was asleep. 

He screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and willed himself to return.   
*~*  
He was floating. It confused his brain, there was no 'up' or 'down', not even relatively.

His eyelashes hurt. Everything hurt, but the fact that his eyelashes also hurt struck him as funny as he floundered for direction. Arbitrary. But he had to find one. He must give this place a direction if he had any hope of moving. 

He rolled over, deciding on a down and forcing his mind to adapt to this new purpose.

It made his stomach churn with nausea, but he managed. Ardyn lay nearby, completely still, Alessa at his head, forehead resting against his. Luna at his side clutching an arm to her chest  
The baby was asleep tucked in the other arm. 

"Hey kids." He whispered. 

Alessa lifted her head and gave him a watery, pained smile. "Hey Dad."

"You been hiding?" He reached over and clasped her shoulder.

She shook her head. "I couldn't. I couldn't come back until this moment." She was sniffling, tears running down her cheeks. "You have to finish it."

He looked to where Bahamut had been, the dragon was sprawled on his back, floating in the air. His swords had shattered around him, filling the air with sparkling debris. He looked dead, but he knew he couldn’t be. There was still too much malice in the air, it burned with it. 

"I'm sorry." Alessa whispered.

"Not your fault, kid." He looked at Luna, who was just as teary as Alessa was. "What about you?"

"The crystal is tied to Bahamut. So is he." Luna's voice was quiet, sad. “So are the Oracles.” 

It was the first time he had heard Luna speak since he’d gone, her voice was soft, but sure. 

"She speaks the truth." Bahamut's voice was thunder over the whispers of his girl. "If you kill me, he will also die. They will all die."

He remembered the pain on Ardyn's face, the locked down bond.

Ardyn had known. He had always known. Perhaps he had also known, even at the start of all this. 

There was nothing left in his heart to swear as he climbed to his feet, walking slowly forward, and hand on his sword. Fingers curled around the hilt of the blade, though it remained sheathed at his side.

Bahamut seemed diminished now. Almost broken. Smaller in both physical and magical presence. 

The children of Lucis had left their mark.

Bahamut chuckled, not bothering to rise to meet him. How could he now, he had no weapons? "You who have fought so hard to preserve them, can you truly end their lives?"

He shifted his grip on the sword, grimacing. "It is you alone who insists on this, dragon.” 

“If you would end me, I will take my toll on their souls." The hint of mockery in his voice was full and twisted within him. 

He gritted his teeth, grinding his jaw and focused on the sword rather than the words. Almost immediately a sense of peace settled over him. He could feel it, the certainty that had carried him forward through every step of this fight. To this moment. To this last, most important moment. 

His eyelashes hurt, his heart ached. He unsheathed the blade, flipping it around in his hand and drawing a deep breath, point of the sword resting just under Bahamut’s chin, palm cupping the hilt. 

“You have given so much for this quest.” Bahamut murmured. “So much. Because they told you their truth. Shall I tell you a story?”

“No.” He whispered, and sunk the sword home, palm resting on the pommel until the blade was seated fully. 

The aetheric light that shone from Bahamut’s eyes dimmed, and went out.


	70. Chapter 70

His eyes slammed shut on reflex as power exploded outwards. He could feel the kings of Lucis around him, each standing ready. 

For what he wasn’t sure. Their master was dead. There was nothing more for them to do here. Would they be freed now that Bahamut had no hold on them? He did not know, he could not bring himself to care. 

His heart ached in his chest, burning with the grief of what he had just done. He should move, at least to…to what? Say goodbye? 

What was goodbye in this life, anyway? 

He had never thought…

A grinding metal sound made him shift, preparing to be attacked. But a gloved hand merely settled on his shoulder, giving a small squeeze. “Go to him, Cor.” Somnus’ voice was odd, disorted beyond the mask. 

He drew a slow, shuddering breath. “Somnus. What now?”

“We die.” Sylva’s voice was gentle to his right. “Or at least – we are allowed to move on. No longer held here.” Her hands took his, squeezing them gently. 

“Thank you.” Somnus said, absently, giving him a small shove in Ardyn’s direction. Luna was gone from his side, but Alessa was still there, cheek against his cheek, crying softly. The baby was still there, resting just over his heart. 

Sylva walked next to him, kneeling down by the girl and putting her arms around her shoulders. She whispered to her, but he could not hear it.

He knelt by Ardyn’s side instead, taking one of the ashen, cold hands in his own. 

He thought, maybe, he should apologize. But Ardyn was limp, completely lifeless. Beyond hearing, beyond feeling through the link, which ended in a brutally cut off sort of way. He held the hand to his chest anyway, closing his eyes again.

“Dad?” Alessa’s voice was soft, still choked with tears.

“Yeah?” He lifted his head to look at her – this grown child that he remembered as a little girl. Sylva was gone, and only Somnus remained of the Lucii, standing sentinel over his brother. Perhaps he intended for them to go together? 

Alessa sniffled. “Dad, I wanna try something.” 

He watched her, mild, unable to rouse any sort of objection or strong feeling. “Ok.”

Alessa smiled at him, still watery eyed, pained. “He gave me life, you know? When he brought me back.” She reached out and settled her hand on her sister’s back. The baby stirred and gave a small whine. 

Alessa drew from the baby a strand of magic. “It won’t hurt her. Promise.” She brought the strand to herself, and closed her eyes, leaning over Ardyn once more.

“It will not work, child.” A gentle voice said behind him.

He startled a bit, turning over his shoulder. The one eyed man walked next to Eos, both glowing faintly. 

“It will. It’s…it’s what he did for me.” Alessa protested. 

“It would kill you.” The one eyed man sank to his knee on the other side of the body – of Ardyn. “I have another path in mind for you, twice born one.”

Eos crouched down.

He watched this all with his heart shuddered, so numb through his core that he could barely breathe. Ardyn was dead, Alessa had nearly killed herself to try to bring him back, Bahamut was dead. 

It was over. It was all over. There was nothing left. 

“Watch, my dear child.” Eos murmured. “Watch.” 

The one eyed man lay a hand to Ardyn’s chest, and another to his forehead. 

Power swelled and twisted, Arean glowed like a new dawn. 

Ardyn drew a deep, shuddery breath.

*~*

It took months before they had time to themselves. Regis was still recovering, making his way around in a chair that had to be pushed, as his left arm was gone beneath the elbow and Cid hadn’t finished the prostatic yet. 

Noctis was often him impish shadow, pushing the chair and his father, instructing his father on how best to manage it. Suddenly an expert. 

Aulea was the queen of queens, managing everything with a solemn sort of weight to her, gathering up the wounded world and making of it something new.

Prince Janus – since they hadn’t decided yet how they were resettling it – was an able assistant. There was talk – just talk, yet - of him marrying Crowe. The two were close in age, and the elder princess was seemingly amiable to the idea. 

It was an odd sort of resettling, the conflict forgotten in the wake of so much reshaping of the world. The young people saddled with the burden of making something new out of the ashes of the old. 

Arean was a joy, Luna adored her small sister, and Ravus – despite his occasional attempt to remain aloof of the smallest sister – seemed to have embraced her existence. 

They rarely saw Alessa, but they did, still. Alessa would be a part of the future just as much as the other children would be. She just had to find her place in it. 

“It’s strange.” Ardyn murmured by his side, gazing out at the sea.

“Hm?” He turned very slightly towards his partner, raising one eyebrow. 

Ardyn was twisting the ring back and forth with his thumb. “This bauble. We all fought so much for it. Yet here it is, no more than a pretty ring. A bit ostentatious even. There is not even a spark left to it.” Ardyn grimaced. “I suppose in the end he was right, this will be the end of what we were. The end of the Lucis Caelum line.”

He considered for a moment, fingers tangled with Ardyn’s. “Yeah. Maybe like it was. You won’t need the ring anymore, but you never did.” 

“I suppose. It seems sad, in a way. An end of something so grand.” Ardyn turned to look at him. “But perhaps a better end than I had hoped for.”

He was expecting the kiss and accepted it, leaning against Ardyn’s shoulder. “I think it will be alright. After all, the world always has need for a healer.”

Ardyn chuckled, breath warm against his ear. “I suppose they do.”

They walked for a while longer on the beach, hands together, steps unhurried. 

The world would wait for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely happy with the end. But I need to go back and edit the rest of the story a lot. I started writing this two months ago and for awhile was doing 2K a day. No Beta, no nothing. It was a fun ride! But Now I am looking at this going "Oh but now I have to beta. Drat." Thank you everyone for sticking with me this long!


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